And In Walks Tomorrow
by Lancinate
Summary: It's been a while since the attack, and everything has gone back to normal. The 'Avengers' no longer interact, and Steve's been left to his own devices - of course, under the watchful eye of Shield. He's not adjusting to life in 'the future' - he's just existing. But that all changes when Tony Stark invites him to dinner.
1. Chapter 1

Steve taps his feet against the luxurious granite floor, and he tries to keep his hands busy with something that isn't shredding the napkin, because even though it's a cloth napkin and relatively difficult to shred, he's fairly certain that he could make himself feel nervous enough to manage it, if he wanted to.

And he looks across the table, at Tony, and his stomach flutters at the thought that he's on his first date. And then he wishes so badly that this were actually a date.

He thinks that if he were a woman, he'd be able to have Tony just because of the way that he looks. And it's shallow of him, to think that, but when you're sitting across from the most attractive, most charismatic man in America, it's hard not to think about what a waste it is to have a perfect body and not even be able to use it to your advantage.

He wouldn't want Tony to want him just for his body, of course. But it'd be a start.

Tony smiles at him as he takes a sip of water, and Steve smiles back, then hides his face in the menu once again.

He still can't believe that he's here, in this obscenely upscale restaurant, sitting across from Tony Stark. It's been six months since they first met, a little over four since they'd last talked, and he'd never planned on seeing him again. Not after Tony went out of his way to invite Steve places, and then Steve canceled on him, three times in a row, always at the last minute.

He had his reasons, of course, reasons that didn't stand up to scrutiny and couldn't be expressed, because they involved a period of time where Steve lacked the strength of character to make himself get out of bed, much less spend time pathetically pretending that he only wanted Tony as a friend.

He'd gone to that thousandth meeting with the secretary of defense yesterday not expecting much. Not expecting them to make much progress talking about precautions and regulations, as though they could have prevented Loki from appearing through anything as simple as government oversight. And certainly not expecting the other 'Avengers' to acknowledge him with anything further than a simple hello.

It's not that they didn't get along. They just all had lives, separate lives, and Steve had his apartment and Peggy's nursing home and it was hard to stay friends when they were all such different people.

Tony, however, Tony had surprised him, when he sauntered over after the meeting, coming over specifically just to talk to Steve, like there was some value to that.

"Haven't see you in a while," Tony had said, sounding like they were old friends rather than just minor acquaintances, and Steve appreciated that.

"I've been around."

Tony smirked. "Around your apartment, you mean?"

"Yeah, something like that."

Tony's phone chose that moment to ring, saving Steve from the fruitless search his brain had been conducting for words that weren't insulting. There was something about nerves, and Tony, and insults being easier than jokes, that made him mess that one up every time.

Tony looked at his phone and sighed. "Ah, fuck, I better take this." He seemed just a bit jumpier then, and Steve figured it must have been an important call. "But hey, why don't you let me take you to dinner tomorrow night?"

"Okay." It wasn't like he had any other plans.

"Great." Tony flashed a quick smile, leaning away from Steve like he was on a fishhook, being pulled away against his will. "I'll, uh, have my people contact your people. Or something."

He smiled at Steve one last time before he left. "It's a date."

And Steve knows Tony didn't mean it as a real, romantic date, but somehow he's gotten it in his head that he can pretend it's a date anyway. Because what Tony doesn't know can't hurt him. And if he does figure it out, well, Steve doesn't have much need for a social life anyway.

He's not even sure why he wants it to be a date so badly. He'd always figured that if he ever satisfied his attraction to other men, it'd be some quick hotel room tryst. He always figured it'd never come to that. But then he'd woken up in the 21st century, and he'd read in the newspapers about how queers were allowed to marry each other now, and it seemed like maybe he could have everything he wanted.

So now he's sitting across from the Tony Stark, pretending to be a little nervous and a little excited, looking at the menu and trying to assess which dish will make the best impression. But he's out of his element, so he folds the menu and looks at Tony. "What do you recommend?"

"Finally," Tony says, his face broadening into an excited grin, and Steve's glad he asked. "I'm having the ribeye, which is always good, but the risotto here is great as well. And then there are the short ribs, which I'd definitely recommend, but I'll warn you now, if you get them I may not be able to restrain myself from stealing a few bites."

Steve can't help loving that prospect, but he tries not to show it. "That's quite the recommendation," he says. "Short ribs it is."

He's pleasantly surprised when Tony orders for him, because that's a move right out of the classic date rule book, and even though it's probably just because Tony can pronounce everything on the menu properly, .

He's more than a little worried about the conversation part of the night, because there's not much about his past that makes for comfortable dinner discussion.

"Have you ever had raw tuna?"

Steve blanches a bit at this. "No."

"That's what ahi tartare is," Tony says, and Steve vaguely remembers the term from when he was watching him order. "It's kind of amazing."

"It sounds... interesting," Steve says, doing his best to be tactful. He'll try it if Tony insists, but...

Tony laughs. "You'll like it."

"Is it safe to eat raw fish?"

"Absolutely. I was once on this boat in the Caribbean where they caught the fish straight out of the ocean and served it to us." He closes his eyes and sighs. "That was the life."

Steve finds it easy to ask Tony more about that vacation – "I was there for scientific purposes," Tony explains. "Had to bring my own fruity drink umbrellas. And my own fruity drinks." – and then about the other places he's been, and soon all he has to do is nod and occasionally smile and listen and admire the excitement with which Tony talks.

By the time the tuna appears, they're consumed in discussion – or, Tony's consumed in explanation – and Steve selfishly doesn't want Tony to eat so that he can listen to him talk for the rest of his life.

But he's distracted by the way that they've piled the food up into a little column of marbled pinks and greens and golds, surrounded it with leaves and chips and made it so ornate that he can almost understand why anyone would pay forty dollars for it appetizer. Almost.

"This looks amazing," Steve says.

"It is."

"No," he says. "Aesthetically. I wish I could draw it."

"Hmm." Tony looks at the food, appraising it, and then his eyes turn to Steve, their expression never changing. "I didn't know you were an artist."

Steve blushes, because nobody ever puts it that way. Particularly nobody who's never seen him draw anything. They call it a hobby, usually.

"I was in art school, before the war," he says. "Always figured I'd do my service and then find a job as an illustrator. I did some photography too. Although technology's really taken away the challenge for that."

"And now?"

"I draw sometimes," he says. It's kind of not a lie. In the past three months he's drawn exactly three pictures. Iron Man fighting Loki. Iron Man talking to Thor. Iron Man standing on top of Stark Tower. He has his face mask off in all of them, and even though it's perfectly explained in the pictures, it's really just because Steve likes Tony's face. He keeps them in a box, where nobody is likely to stumble upon them, should people suddenly appear in his life again. "Just little things. Technology's made that obsolete too, it seems."

Tony shifts in his seat, pulling his phone out of his pocket, and Steve watches perplexed as he points it at the appetizer. He turns the phone, showing Steve the picture he's just taken. "In case you'd like a reference."

Steve smiles, and then, even though he's absolutely, completely against the idea of eating raw fish, he follows Tony's lead in putting a small bit of the ahi on a chip and taking a careful bite. He's learned that Tony doesn't exactly like it when he argues. And anyway, it tastes great, once you ignore the little fact of what that is.

"You should get a tablet."

He wonders if that's what they call the leafy bunches on the plate.

"For your computer," Tony adds. He's talking around a bite of food and Steve shouldn't find that attractive but he does.

"I don't have a computer."

Tony fixes him with a look of utter disbelief and confusion, then quickly recovers, gesturing with his fork as he talks. "A tablet lets you draw digital art by hand." He shrugs. "Digital art still needs artists, it's just the tools that have changed."

Steve's not sure what to say to that, so he just chews, trusting Tony to bring the conversation back. When he does, it's to ask Steve about himself, which makes him blush. He's not sure if it's just that he's put so much pressure on himself to pretend that this is a date, or that he's just genuinely nervous around Tony.

No, he's pretty sure it's the second.

And his first instinct is to admit that he's finding the 21st century far worse than he'd have imagined. But then he realizes that's not exactly date material, so he talks about the things he likes about New York, and before he knows it they're in animated conversation again, pausing every now and again so that he can admonish Tony's fork for trying to infiltrate his plate.

It's more than he's ever hoped for, the way that Tony smirks slyly as he tries to sneak the last bite from Steve's plate. And Steve responds with a coy smile, blocking Tony's fork with his own, prepared for a playful, dare he hope flirtatious fight, but as soon as he looks up at him Tony's expression changes, and he backs off, leaving Steve to self-consciously chew the last bite as Tony talks to the waiter.

He's so busy being embarrassed at overstepping the boundary that he barely registers when Tony asks if he wants dessert. And even though he absolutely, definitely wants dessert he finds himself shaking his head and saying, "no, thank you."

So all that leaves is the check. And of course Tony's going to pay, because it's Tony Stark and this restaurant is obscenely expensive, but his stomach still does a bit of a flip when Tony insists on taking it.

"I'm afraid I gave Happy the night off," Tony says, when they get outside. "So we'll have to walk."

And Steve's not sure when it became a foregone conclusion that they were going to the same place but he finds himself okay with that, if it means that he gets to be near Tony some more.

He's not about to admit to it but he definitely walks closer to Tony than is strictly necessary, hands in his pockets because he's not entirely sure he'd be able to stop himself from playfully brushing his hand up against Tony's and trying to play it off as accidental contact, and he doesn't want to ruin things now.

And he wouldn't want to be seen doing that, in public, anyway.

He lets a sort of suspense build as they get closer and closer to Stark Manor. There's a part of him, a small but very strong and ardent part of him that imagines Tony squaring up between him and the door, looking deep into his eyes and taking his hand.

And that part of him imagines blushing as Tony tells him what a wonderful time he had on their date. And that part of him imagines falling hopelessly, deeply in love as their lips meet, as fireworks explode behind his gently closed eyes. And as much as the larger, more practical part of him tries to block out these images, he can't guarantee that there is no hope. Until they reach the door, and Tony doesn't kiss him, he can't completely rule out the possibility.

But Tony just pauses in front of the gigantic front doors and says, "come in for a drink?"

And Steve nods, letting the disappointment drop through his bones, feeling his stomach twist into a strange sort of regret. "Sure."

He follows Tony through the expansive house, listening politely to explanations of this picture and that vase, things that he would actually be very interested in were this any other situation. But he can't quite shake the feeling of being let down, and he can't help chastising himself for creating expectations where there ought to have been none.

Tony leads him into the master suite, a giant monstrosity of a room that Tony apologizes for in a way that tells Steve he's not at all embarrassed by the opulence. Steve looks around, at all of the sharp edges and colors that he's come to associate with modern interior design, and he sits down on a couch that wouldn't fit in his apartment, and he watches as Tony pours them some scotch.

He's expecting Tony to sit in the armchair next to the couch, or to take a seat further down the couch, or even at the other end, but that's because he's forgotten that Tony doesn't have any sense of personal space. When he does hand him a glass and sit down, there's just inches between them. Not that Steve minds, of course. If there's anywhere he wants Tony, it's right next to him.

He wonders how Tony would feel if he knew that Steve was carrying a torch for him. He probably wouldn't sit so close, then. He's heard it's not as bad these days, being queer. That it's not illegal anymore, and lots of people admit to it. But that still doesn't make it okay.

He takes a sip and grimaces at the harsh taste. He's never been a fan of alcohol, even back when it could get him drunk. Tony catches Steve's eye as he takes a long, lingering drink of his own glass, raising a playful eyebrow over the rim of his glass. "Can't take it?"

Steve's not quite sure what Tony means, but he recognizes a challenge when he hears one, so he drains the rest of his glass, fighting through the burn in his throat and controlling his gag reflex, placing the empty glass on the table seconds after Tony does.

And of course the alcohol does nothing for him, because of the serum, but as he looks at Tony he's feeling intoxicated anyway, intoxicated by the way that they're so close together, and the way the lights are dim and there's a fire and the radio is playing something kind of romantic, and he's reminded of why they can't be friends. He wants him so bad and it's not right to keep that sort of secret from him, and there's no way he's going to tell him.

And he's trying to tear his eyes away from Tony, and stand up, and make some sort of excuse to leave and never come back, when Tony kisses him.


	2. Chapter 2

He's not sure how he got here, what it was that he said or did that got him from point A to point B, and it's not like he's complaining, but then Tony's tongue slips between his lips and he's torn between absolute ecstasy and this sick sort of panic that's seeping upwards from his stomach.

Then there's this involuntary sound he makes, this strange little whimper that seems like it's being forced out of him by the sudden contraction of his groin as Tony's tongue clashes with his. And he's mortified, because it's just a kiss, he's not supposed to be responding so strongly, but even if Tony cares he still doesn't stop.

On the one hand this is perfect, all of the sparks flying that Steve expected and he can barely contain his euphoria, but the other hand – Tony's, to be specific – finds its way to Steve's crotch, rubbing gently against the zipper on his pants. No one's ever touched him there before, not like this.

He's kissed exactly two people in his life. That makes up his entire sexual history. And he's not necessarily afraid of sex but he's also not exactly comfortable with feeling lost and out of his depth. He likes to have a battle plan. He likes to feel, if not in control, then at least prepared for the eventualities.

He doesn't like feeling – knowing – that he has no idea what he's supposed to be doing. Does he put his tongue in Tony's mouth? Should he be touching him? Where?

He wants to make Tony stop, but he knows that if he does that everything will be ruined. He knows Tony thinks he's too uptight. He knows this because he'd once gone to a party at Stark Mansion, and Tony had drunkenly approached him, placed a steadying hand on his forearm and said, completely unprovoked, "You know what your problem is, Rogers? You're too uptight."

So he's not going to say anything. He's not going to do anything. He's going to lighten up, as Tony entreated him to do all those months previous, and he's going to enjoy it. Or pretend to.

He really wishes he could just enjoy it, focus on how perfect Tony's lips feel against his, the soft caress of Tony's other hand on his cheek, but he keeps getting pulled out of the moment by fear that Tony's going to figure out exactly how lost and inexperienced he is.

There's no way Tony Stark is going to want him if figures that out.

All of these thoughts, they're converging in his brain, mixing with the complete shock at the fact that this is Tony Stark. Touching him. With his lips. On purpose.

He's lightheaded beyond belief, but it's more than that, it's a sort of wired, volatile buzzing in his brain, and he wants it to stop but it's like a roller coaster and all he can do is close his eyes and hope for it to be over.

Except he never wants this to end.

His breath catches when Tony pulls away, convinced it's because he's changed his mind, but it's just to start unbuttoning Steve's vest.

"You have too many buttons," Tony whispers, a joking complaint, but Steve fights his paralysis to help him anyway, feeling this little imaginary shock every time their fingers brush against one another.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Tony says, hands hovering. "I mean, holy fucking shit. I knew you were ripped, but I'm pretty sure this isn't physically possible."

Steve shrugs, wishing that all of the attention hadn't suddenly fallen on him. Tony's hands make him squirm as they brush over his nipples and tease the ticklish sides of his obliques, and Tony seems to be enjoying that a lot.

"There's no way I'm taking my shirt off now," Tony says, but Steve barely has time to look disappointed before he smirks. "No, scratch that, yes I am."

Steve's surprised too, by how muscular Tony is, and a twinge goes through him as he sees the scarring around his arc reactor. He's afraid Tony will catch him staring, but Tony isn't watching Steve's face. He's just kissing Steve's chest in ways that would be making things very hard if he weren't so distracted by the thought of the arc reactor. It's more disconcerting than he was prepared for, the way that there's just metal sticking out of Tony's chest, but it's not the strangeness that bothers him. It's the way that Tony just treats it like it's nothing, this little metal circle that's keeping him alive. It scares him, that Tony's mortality is so evident. That he's so vulnerable.

But he's torn away from that thought when Tony ventures lower, kissing down his abs until he hits the place where Steve's skin meets his trousers. And Steve panics, a little, because every article of clothing that they're removing just keeps taking him further from things he's equipped to deal with, and Tony's hands stop caressing his inner thighs and tug at the button instead.

Steve doesn't want to watch but can't tear his eyes away as Tony lowers his mouth to the zipper, takes it in his teeth and looks up at him, fixing Steve with a look that should be illegal on account of obscenity.

The only reason Steve doesn't turn bright red as Tony exposes his grey cotton boxer briefs, his face brushing against the obvious tent of his erect penis, is that there's probably no blood left in his head. He panics, just a bit, and pushes Tony away, pins him against the couch and kisses him, to buy himself a little time.

His hands want to focus on every little bit of Tony's bare chest, but he has to keep up and so he undoes Tony's pants instead, noting with a mixture of embarrassment and relief that Tony's hard too.

"I have a bed," Tony says, and it's not until he stands up and and grabs Steve's hand to pull him up that Steve realizes it's an invitation for them to go there.

When the underwear comes off, that's when Steve decides that he has to avoid hesitating at all costs, because this is the part where Tony's going to figure out that he's completely lost. He presses his body against Tony's, and because he knows at least enough about what having a penis feels like, he begins grinding the uppermost part of his thigh against Tony's crotch. So far, so good.

Tony was already hard when he took his pants off, and as far as Steve can tell he's not getting any bigger, which means that it's time for them to, well, do it. Before he can let his nerves get the best of him he throws himself down on the bed, spreading his legs the way he'd once seen a girl do in a dirty magazine. And he winces involuntarily, because with what little he knows about sex, he's still pretty sure that his butt isn't going to take a penis the way a vagina does.

He's waiting for it, eyes screwed shut, expecting Tony to tear him open at any moment, but that never happens. Instead, Tony gives a loud, theatrical sigh and the bed sags a bit as Tony sits down beside him.

"Steve?"

He's worried now, but he tries not to show it. "Yes?"

"Open your eyes," Tony says, with a sort of practiced reluctance.

When he does, Tony's looking at him with this look that seems like a mixture of bemusement and disappointment. "We're not going to do this."

Steve tries not to let the relief show on his face. "Why not?"

Tony just smiles somewhat sadly, picking at the bed with one hand. "Do you even want to be on bottom?"

And Steve shrugs the best he can while lying flat on the bed, face getting warm.

Tony's smile grows broader. "I'm sorry," he says. "I should have caught on earlier. I just didn't want to."

Steve knows that feigning ignorance isn't going to help. "Caught on to what?"

"Have you ever slept with a man before?"

"No."

"Just women."

"No."

Tony looks surprised then. "So you're a virgin?"

Steve's shoulders are beginning to get warm too now, and his face is on fire, feeling so utterly exposed under Tony's gaze. "So let's fix that," he says, kind of unconvincingly.

Tony laughs. "As much as I really, really want to, I don't think you do."

Tony reaches behind him, grabs a blanket and tosses it to Steve, who takes it gratefully and wraps it around his too-exposed body. Tony doesn't seem like he's making any move to cover up, but that's okay. Steve isn't going to complain about that, even if getting to take in Tony's body like this is keeping him kind of unbearably aroused.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I – I don't know," he says, because it's pathetic to admit that he didn't want to ruin what was probably his only chance.

"It's okay to admit that you don't know what you're doing," Tony says. "It's kind of cute, really."

Steve wonders how red he'll have to get before Tony lets him leave. He swallows, his head feeling like a swarm of bees went off inside of it. "So," he says, mouth dry because he's pretty sure he knows what the answer is, "what now?"

"Uh, well, I guess that's up to you," Tony says, one hand massaging his thigh like he really wants to touch himself but is holding off. "If you want to, you can fuck me, or I can suck you off, or we can use our hands, and if you don't want to do any of that then that's fine too. Don't think that you have to finish what we started. There's always next time."

"Next time?" He doesn't mean to parrot it like that, but he's not expecting Tony to say something that seems to imply he still wants anything to do with Steve.

It's Tony's turn to turn red, though on him it's just a hint of pink in his cheeks, and it's possible that Steve's imagining it. "I guess that was kind of presumptive," he says. "I didn't mean to – I mean, I didn't exactly ask if you wanted this to happen in the first place, so I won't be offended if you want to just leave and pretend it didn't."

"No, I wanted this to happen," Steve says, pulling the blanket even tighter against himself. "I – just, not so fast."

"Fair enough," Tony says, smiling at Steve in this soft, gentle way that catches him just as off guard as everything else has. "So, what now?"

"Hands sounds good," Steve decides, swallowing because he's not even sure about that. "But, I just want to do it for you."

"You sure?"

Steve nods.

"Tell me if you change your mind," Tony says, reaching over to his bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a small bottle.

Steve nods.

Tony scoots closer so that he's almost pressed up against Steve, and the proximity makes him blush. "Is it okay if I kiss you?"

"Yes," Steve says, and that much he's sure of.

But he doesn't, at least not right away. First he uncaps the bottle, squirting the viscous liquid into Steve's hand. And he watches as Steve hesitantly touches him, moaning lightly as Steve's hand strokes the length of his penis.

"You're supposed to tell me how big it is," Tony says, teasing.

"No point in stating the obvious."

Then he kisses him, softer and less hurried than before, exactly how Steve has imagined it would happen.

Well, not exactly how he imagined it, because his imagination had expected clothes and romance, but close enough. As close as he can get with his hand on Tony's penis and his own warm against his stomach, pulsing against him every once in a while as though it doesn't like being ignored.

I changed my mind, he thinks, repeatedly, as the minutes go on, wishing he had the courage to say it. I changed my mind.

He thinks it as Tony teases him with his tongue, and caresses his chest, hand traveling as low as his stomach but always respectfully coming back up. He thinks it as Tony moans against his mouth, as his lips travel up to Steve's ear, alternating between whispers of encouragement and merciless teasing of the sensitive skin.

He thinks it as Tony gets close, stops kissing him and instead leans against him. As his muscles tense, and he cries out, "oh, Steve," and comes in white ropes that alternately paint his chest and drip onto Steve's hand.

He has a strange urge to lick it, but he doesn't. He thinks that's strange. He doesn't want to be strange.

Tony looks beautiful in the aftermath of his orgasm, and looking at him there's a part of Steve that doesn't even mind that he never got a chance to speak up. And then Tony turns and looks at him through heavy lidded eyes, asking, like it's been his plan all along, "changed your mind yet?"

"Yeah," Steve breathes, unable to believe that Tony's going to touch him. That the wildest of his fantasies – only because he'd tried his hardest to keep them chaste – is about to occur. And it's so much sooner than he would have wanted but it's also what he wants more than anything right now so that's okay.

The blanket's slipped down so that it's barely covering him as it is, and Tony just has to shove it away, the tug from that already sending a jolt of pleasure through him. He loses all pretense of composure as Tony touches him, his hips bucking unbidden at the sensation, and he lays his head on Tony's shoulder, buries his face in Tony's neck and inhales, smelling Tony and wishing he could stay like that forever.

He's trying to remain cool, but his breath is coming in gasps when it's coming at all, and then Tony does something with a twist of his wrist that makes him moan out loud.

"You like that?"

"Yeah," he pants, and Tony does it again, making his back arch. And Tony lasted a long time, but Steve's not going to last much longer. All it takes is a few more strokes, and he's seeing white as his hips roll beneath Tony's hand.

There's this overwhelming feeling of elation that swells up in his chest, and it's all he can do to stop himself from telling Tony how much he loves him. That he wants to be with him, always. That he never wants to leave.

But he knows that's not real. He knows that it's just the sex that's making him think that. But he just curls up against Tony, feels him warm and soft and perfect against him, and pretends for a moment that it is.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony's the type to drift off immediately, and Steve wants to stay there, he wants to hold Tony and watch him sleep, watch the way his arc reactor rises and falls with every breath, and then fall asleep next to him, but he doesn't.

Instead, he slips out, careful not to wake him, and pauses at the door just so he can get one more look at how beautiful Tony looks when he's sleeping.

He goes back to his studio apartment, where all the things he owns in the world are stacked in a corner, and his bed takes up most of the space. SHIELD offered to pay for a bigger place, of course. But he doesn't like feeling like their charity case. And he doesn't even stop to brush his teeth, because he doesn't want to get the flavor of Tony out of his mouth just yet.

Usually, when he goes to sleep, if he sleeps at all, he takes some time to think about all of the people who died in the war. Sometimes he'll try to make himself feel better, think that by this time they'd likely all have died anyway. But that never helps much. If anything, it makes it worse. Usually he goes to bed feeling bitter and defeated and angry at the world. But not tonight.

Tonight he gets into bed, and he bunches up all of his blankets and pillows and hugs them close and tries to pretend that they're Tony. And he closes his eyes, and smiles, and remembers everything that just happened, and remembers the way Tony said "next time," and for the first time since they dragged him out of the ocean, he's genuinely happy.

He's spent so much time criticizing the future for what it doesn't have. But it does have Tony. And maybe that's enough.  
Sunday morning he wakes up feeling guilty the way he always does, and it takes him a moment to realize that there's another reason for that. Because while last night, when finishing with their hands had seemed so innocuous as compared to what he thought was going to happen, now he realizes that he basically had sexual contact with a man he doesn't know very well. On the first date. With another man.

But he pulls the blankets tighter around himself, and remembers how great Tony was to talk to at dinner, and how he stopped when he realized Steve was uncomfortable, and how much he really wants to see him again, and then he thinks that maybe in the 21st century everybody has sex on the first date.

He sits around thinking that maybe Tony will call him. It's crazy, absolutely insane, to expect him to. He knows that. He's knows that you're supposed to wait 3 days before calling.

On Monday, he begins having his doubts. About Tony, about himself, about thinking that he can do any of this.

Tony's 38. If the rumors Steve's heard bandied around at SHIELD are true, that means Tony's been having sex for longer than Steve's been simultaneously alive and not frozen. And he's kind of okay with the age difference, because he's met modern 23-year-olds and is shocked at how young they seem. But he's not sure he's okay with the experience difference.

He's supposed to go in to SHIELD for another test, one of those things that he gives in to just because he feels like he can't take their money if he doesn't let them poke and prod him. But this time he begs off and spends the day sitting in his pajamas, sketching the food from their date, daydreaming about Tony's lips and Tony's skin.

Most of his fantasies are appropriately virginal and chaste, about holding hands and going for walks and falling asleep together, but then sometimes he remembers the way Tony said "I could suck you off," and he pictures those lips and feels the memory of them against his and it gets a little harder to breathe.

On Tuesday he goes for a run, and when he gets back he checks the answering machine, but there's nothing. So he goes to his favorite diner for lunch, making conversation with Carol like it isn't a particularly important day, letting her bring him the senior citizen special the way she likes to. Fury would kill him for that, for the breach of security, but he likes the fact that someone who isn't Peggy knows that he's Captain America.

He feels guilty, sometimes, going out to eat when he could make food at home himself. It makes him feel extravagant and wasteful. But he can't cook. And there are only so many sandwiches he can eat before he wants something more.

And, he has the money for it. He tries not to think that way, because he knows that it'll all go away, once SHIELD stops paying him to do nothing. That it'll be hard to get a job when that happens. But right now he has the money and sometimes he just can't help spending it.

Besides, outside of Peggy, Carol is his only social interaction.

For dinner he makes three sandwiches, and sits down with a book, and listens to the radio, and looks at the phone more often than is strictly necessary.

He's not sure when he falls asleep. He knows it's too late. And he knows, when he wakes up late in the morning and checks the answering machine and sees that there aren't any messages, that he's been waiting for something that never had a chance of happening.

Instead of lying in bed, hating himself, and this world he's been thrust into, he goes to visit Peggy. She lives in a nursing home an hour outside of the city, close enough that he can ride out there whenever he wants to, but far enough that he doesn't feel obligated to visit every day.

He suspects Fury had a hand in arranging that. He's learned that most things in his life now happen because of Fury, and he's learned that he's not supposed to know that. He almost wonders if Fury's the one who got Tony to ask him out. But he's not that paranoid.

Usually he goes to see her because he wants to, but today he doesn't. Today what he wants to do is lie in bed all day, hating himself and the world he's been thrust into. He visits her because he knows she'd be upset to hear he'd done that.

He's not sure how to tell her what happened. He's not sure if he wants to tell her.

It took him a long time to even tell her that he liked Tony. It took him a while to realize it, of course, and even longer for him to decide that in the 21st century, maybe, he could let himself accept those kinds of feelings.

But even then, even when he'd managed to rid himself of the shame, once he was completely convinced that there were no laws against it, even then he'd been terribly reticent. He'd only admitted it, finally, because Peggy had noticed the way he mostly seemed happy when talking about gay marriage and Tony, and asked him about it one day. And he'd immediately jumped to assuring her that he liked girls too, and liked her a lot, still, even now, and she'd smiled sadly at him and said, "I had my life. You should have yours."

It still hurt to think about it. To think about all he'd missed out on.

She's had 70 years to forget he ever existed. He kissed her once, when she was 25, and then she went and had a normal life. She got married, had kids. Her kids got married, had kids of their own. Those kids have kids. She's a different person now. He doesn't have the sort of significance to her that she has to him.

He's had six months to get over the fact that the woman he thought he was going to marry has become ancient over night, her once perfect skin saggy and spotted, her hips incapable of supporting her body anymore, her sight and hearing augmented by thick glasses and large hearing aids.

He loves her. But he's been trying to get over her as much as he can when she's still there, and when he'd met Tony, there was a part of him that was relieved to like him so much. Relieved that maybe he could move on as Peggy so obviously wants him to do.

He was awkward and uncomfortable at first, but talking to her about Tony actually made it easier, their relationship. Because now that Steve has someone else – even though, up until four days ago he'd been someone Steve never saw, someone he thought he had no chance with – they've jumped past the uncomfortable place they were six months ago, and they've jumped to being good friends. And he so desperately needs a friend.

Still, today, he feels like he's testing the limit. Like she'll stop him at any moment and say that it's too much. That he should keep his deviant sexual adventures to himself. So he pushes through it, making the whole thing brief, gliding over the sexual bits like a speed skater over the ice, building quickly to the most important part: "he still hasn't called."

She doesn't say anything for a moment, making him self conscious. "I should have told him to stop," he adds, speaking quickly. "I know. He got what he wanted and now he doesn't need me."

"Nonsense," she says, straightening her glasses. "If he only wants to have sex with you, and you say no, then he'll just go find another person to have sex with. You can't change that. You can't blame yourself for his decisions."

Steve shrugs.

"And don't think that you can't go have sex with whoever you like, either," she adds, wagging a finger at him. "This is the 21st century. People do it all the time."

"Okay," he says, wondering when the world got so morally depraved.

"Do you still like him?"

He nods.

"Then call him!"

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"If he wanted to see me, he would have called."

"Maybe he's sick. Maybe he lost your number. Maybe he's sitting somewhere right now telling someone else that he thinks you don't want to see him."

"He's not like that."

"Steve Rogers, you will call this man or I will call him for you."

He sighs. "Okay."

"Do you know his phone number?"

Of course he does.

"You mean right now?"

"Yes, I mean right now. What do you think they gave me this phone for?"

_Probably not so that some queer from the 40s can call the man he was stupid enough to sleep with,_ he thinks but doesn't say.

"Well, go on."

"I-" he struggles for words, breathing a sigh of relief when there's a knock on the door.

Theresa pops her head in, biting her lip and offering Steve a small smile. She's the youngest nurse there, probably early 20s. And she's only been working there a few weeks, so while the other nurses have learned that Steve just wants to be left alone, she always made an effort to talk to him. She's beautiful, too, and right now he feels just a little unfaithful to Tony for noticing. And then he feels a little twinge in his heart because he knows Tony wouldn't care.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she says. "Steve, I'm afraid I have a terribly big favor to ask of you."

"Anything," he says, jumping off of the bed, ignoring the amused reproachful look that Peggy gives him and following her out the door.

"This isn't exactly regulation, so you'll have to keep quiet about it," she says. "And if you don't want to, you absolutely don't have to do anything. But I really need to get Mr. Friedman into get into his chair, and nobody from the lift team showed up today."

"No problem."

"I'll help you, and we can get a third person," she says.

"I can do it myself."

"He's very heavy."

"I'm very strong."

She pauses. "The lift position is easier with one person," she says. "But if you drop him, we'll be in a lot of trouble."

"Trust me," he says. "You clearly asked because you really need the help, right? And I wouldn't do this if I didn't think I was capable."

She glances at his baggy sweatshirt, which does almost nothing to hide his shoulder to waist ratio. "Okay."

He has to be careful, moving Mr. Friedman, because he doesn't want to appear too strong. He pretends that the weight of the man's arms around his neck make it difficult for him to stand straight, and then he pretends that he's allowing Mr. Friedman to put most of his weight on his feet, because lifting a 300 pound man isn't something that normal people can do.

When he's done, Theresa thanks him profusely, reminds him that he shouldn't tell anyone what she asked him to do, and then thanks him profusely again.

"I'm sorry that I just walked into your great grandmother's room and pulled you out of there," she says. "She's just always going on about how strong and capable you are, and I thought, well, why not ask."

"We're not related," he says, and immediately wonders why he said it. Of course everyone thinks they're related. "We're just friends."

He sees the shocked look on her face and he scrambles for a lie, wishing he had Tony's ability to improvise. It takes him forever to come up with even the most basic explanation.

"We were neighbors, growing up," he says, finally, after the silence has stretched on far too long. "My family spent a lot of time at her house."

Theresa nods, though he can see she's still not convinced. "She's a great old lady," she says. "It's nice of you to visit her like this."

He nods, offers a thank you, and escapes back into Peggy's room.

And then he runs a hand through his hair and explains what stupid thing he just did, and she smirks. "If you think you're going to get out of making that phone call, you're mistaken."

"I don't even know what to say."

"Say hello, tell him you're going to take him out to dinner tomorrow, and then tell him your 'long time neighbor' wants you to go work on a puzzle with her."

"Shouldn't I ask him if he wants to go?"

"No," she says, shaking her head emphatically. "You never ask. If he wants to say no, he has to work for it."

"Okay." He wonders if she turned up the thermostat while he was gone. She couldn't have, not from her bed.

He dials slowly, part of him hoping there will be another distraction, but there isn't. There's also no answer, though Tony's answering machine message is lifelike enough that Steve almost mistakes it for one. Knowing that he's only talking to a recording makes him breathe easier.

"Hey Tony," he says, wondering if he needs to identify himself. "It's Steve. I had a great time at dinner, and I'd love to do it again. Tomorrow night. I'll be you at your place at 7."

And he hangs up, and Peggy smiles at him, and he tries not to think about the possibility of Tony calling back just to say no thank you.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony calls him the next morning to ask about the dress code and give Steve the code to his parking garage, staying on the phone until Pepper grabs it and dismisses Steve with a quick, somewhat possessive, "Mr. Stark has a meeting now."

And Steve spends the phone call smiling and pretending to be someone who hadn't spent most of the last day replaying everything he'd ever said to Tony.

And then he spends a full hour trying to decide what to wear, folding and unfolding and rehanging clothes until finally he decides on a pair of golden khakis, a navy blue polo, and his brown leather jacket. There's so much pressure, now that he knows Tony will care how he looks.

He kind of wants to pick up flowers, but he doesn't want to look too eager.

So he shows up empty handed, fifteen minutes late on the assumption that Tony will take a long time to get ready. He's right, of course, and spends the next twenty sitting in the foyer, taking in the opulence of Tony's mansion. It makes him more comfortable than his apartment, though. It's full of old paintings and old sculptures, and at least out here, seems like it belongs in a different era. Like Steve.

He's bonding with a building now. Great.

His reverie is interrupted by a noise at the top of the stairs, and he looks up in time to catch Tony sliding down the banister.

"Kind of thought I'd scared you off," he says, by way of greeting.

"I don't scare that easy."

Tony just smiles, a somewhat infuriatingly superior smile. "So you just like turning me down."

And Steve imagines that's supposed to be a joke, but he doesn't get it. "Pardon?"

Tony laughs. "I'm just giving you a hard time," he says. "I'm over it. Barely ever think about it. Didn't mean a thing." He wrinkles his nose and winks, and this time Steve can definitely tell that he thinks he's joking about something.

"When did I turn you down?"

Tony cocks his head. "Uh, well, the party, to start with."

Steve's silent for a minute, and then he realizes what Stark has to be talking about. "You mean that party where you just walked up and insulted me? How'd you expect me to react?"

Tony raises his eyebrows. "You really thought I was insulting you?"

Well, of course. "The first thing you did was ask if I knew 'what my problem was.'"

Tony looks almost offended. "I repeatedly asked you if you'd like to loosen up. With me. Very suggestively."

"Do you always open with an insult?"

Tony smiles. "Yeah. Your hair is stupidly blonde. Go out with me."

Steve rolls his eyes, but he can't help the smile that spreads across his face.

"Uh but, backing up a bit, you really had no idea?"

He's not about to admit that, out loud. So he shrugs.

"And, wait, what about the three times you agreed to go out with me and then canceled?"

Steve blushes.

"Wow." Tony's face breaks out into a huge grin. "Wow, you're unbelievable."

He thinks he should be embarrassed, but he's not. All he can think about is the fact that Tony's wanted to go out with him as long as Steve has. But he also needs to stop this line of questioning before Tony puts two and two together about their first date.

"Shall we go to dinner?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Tony says, smile still on his face. "But seriously you had no idea? Nothing? Really?"

Steve rolls his eyes, holding the door open, a subtle hint that Tony pretends to ignore.

"I guess it makes sense though," he says. "I mean, because probably everybody you ever talk to is hitting on you. What with that boy next door look and those muscles and everything. So you probably don't even notice it, do you?"

"Dinner?"

"Right, okay, sure," Tony says, finally walking past him. "I mean, am I right about that, though? I'm pretty sure I am."

Steve pauses before closing the door, so he can watch Tony's butt flex as he walks down the steps. And then he feels a little embarrassed for looking, but it makes him feel liberated, too, and he likes that.

It's a long walk through the garage, and Tony seems to expect him to be more impressed by the cars than he is, so he makes a show of looking over each one as they pass. The are impressive, actually when he takes the time to really look at them, all sleek and streamlined, but he'd still rather look at Tony.

But he can't do that while Tony's sneaking glances at him, so he just contents himself with the thought that Tony'll have to hold onto him the whole way to the diner.

When Tony sees his motorcycle, he raises an eyebrow and says, "I was kind of expecting a car."

Steve smiles. "I have a second helmet."

And Tony takes another look at the motorcycle and shakes his head. "Uhh yeah, we're not doing that."

It's like a rock in Steve's stomach, except that the rock is covered in acid and he hates himself for how quickly it hurts him. He used to have better control of his emotions, he used to be strong and now he can't even –

"I mean, I'd be fine with it," Tony says, running a hand along the seat, squatting to take a look at the engine. "But imagine the publicity if someone takes a picture of me riding on the back of a motorcycle with you."

So Steve reluctantly picks one of Tony's cars. And maybe it's better, in the car, because it's a pretty long drive to the diner. He picked it over any fancy restaurant, because those all feel like Tony's world. He wants to impress him, of course. But he wants to do it on his own terms.

They sit in Steve's booth, a little one in the corner, and he sits in his same seat, the one that faces the wall, and finds himself a little bit glad that Tony doesn't know he comes here alone and sits there alone. He feels like Tony wouldn't understand that.

Steve introduces Tony to Carol, wondering if she'll think it's strange that this is the first time he's brought anyone with him. And he really hopes she won't say anything.

"Pleasure to meet you," she says, fixing Tony with an easy smile. "And what can I get for you, Mr. Stark?"

Steve wonders why he didn't realize that she would know who he was. Of course she would. Everyone does. The world wasn't like this when he crashed into the ocean.

When he looks up from his menu, something that he's only looking at as a way to not to get caught staring at Tony, his stomach does a little flip. He wants to be imagining it, the way that Tony's looking at Carol, his whole face lit up in a smile, lightly touching her arm as he makes some joke about his order.

Steve's not sure what to do. Tony doesn't think it's a date. He probably took one look at the diner and decided no one would take the great Tony Stark to some dump in the middle of nowhere if they were expecting anything other than a polite meal and some feigned friendship.

And then Carol leaves, and Tony raises an eyebrow at him. "I'm sorry, that was incredibly rude of me," he says. "I forget to turn it off, sometimes."

Steve shrugs, the feeling returning to his legs.

"Oh, and uh, am I right in assuming you don't want anyone to know what we're doing here?"

"I um – I guess I hadn't really thought about it," he says, and then he shakes his head, and because Tony's looking anxious for a decision, he makes one. "No, I have. I don't want anyone to know."

Then he pauses. "Why do you ask?"

"Because uh, this," Tony says, pasting on a big smile and raising his eyebrows, and Steve turns around to see two young women walking up to their table. "Yes, I'm Tony Stark. One autograph, no pictures, any breaking of these rules and bodyguard here may have to restrain you. Any other questions?"

The girls look at Steve and giggle, and then they look back at Tony. "Why do you have a bodyguard?"

Tony smirks. "New rule, no questions. Now, who should I make this out to?"

Steve watches as Tony flirts with them, and he knows it's not personal and it's probably not possible that Tony's interested in women who are that young, but it's still not what he expected out of the night.

"Jerome? Jerome, the young women would like to see your biceps." It takes him too long to realize that Tony's talking to him, and then because he's caught off guard he just rolls his sleeve up and tries not to die of embarrassment as the girls exclaim over his muscles and ask to feel them.

He's so very glad when they leave, and he breathes a sigh of relief and looks at Tony, who raises his eyebrows and smiles mischievously at him.

"Jerome?"

Tony seems delighted at this objection. "I'm quick on my feet."

"I don't even know them," he adds, still trying to process what just happened. "Why do they even care what my arms look like?"

Tony smirks. "Caught yourself in the mirror lately, Cap?"

"There is no way that was normal."

"Eh, you're right. Consequence of being with me. People don't think of celebrities as strangers."

"Speak of the devil," he adds, putting on that same forced smile.

And Steve sits there as Tony talks to the man, pretending to be interested in the menu and pretending that everything isn't falling apart right in front of him. He can't believe he was so stupid. He should have considered the fact that Tony's an international celebrity.

He's definitely ruined this date. If he can even call it that. He wouldn't blame Tony if he just wanted to leave and never see him again. And well, at least he needs to tell Tony that it's okay, to leave. That he doesn't have to stay here for Steve's sake.

He just hopes Tony will want to leave together.

And as soon as they're alone again he apologizes, maybe a little too much, but he really doesn't want to ruin this, he really wants Tony to like him and want to be around him and this, this isn't how to do that. And he says that they can go somewhere else, he doesn't mind, and then he swallows and offers that maybe they could go do something else. And he wonders if that's a little too much of an offer to have sex with him again, but he's not sure what else to do.

And Tony just smiles at him throughout, and then he rolls his eyes. "Narcissist."

"I – pardon?"

"I'm calling you a narcissist," Tony says, raising an eyebrow at him, and Steve's not sure but he thinks that's a good sign.

"I understood that part."

"Oh," Tony says. "Great. They do say communication is the most important part of any relationship."

Steve waits for Tony to go on, but he doesn't, he just looks at Steve with this look like he's completely amused by himself.

"I'm just not clear on why you said it."

"Ahhh," Tony says. "Well. See, you apologized for something you have no control over. That just seemed a little self-centered."

Steve shrugs. "Well, I picked the place."

"And I was aware of the potential ramifications."

"So why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, I was planning to. But I'm trying this new thing where I listen occasionally between bouts of talking. And then you said it was your favorite restaurant, so, I figured I should check it out." He winks, and that simple gesture makes Steve feel special, makes him feel warm from the inside. "And if we leave before the food gets here that really defeats the purpose of that, doesn't it?"

Steve's not sure what to say to that, so he nods and fiddles with the menu.

"You're a good man, Jerome," Tony says, pasting on that smile, again, and Steve covers his face and groans.

When the check finally comes Carol places it in the middle of the table, and Steve's so sure that he's going to pay that he doesn't even reach for it, he just casually pulls out his wallet and when he looks up Tony's already sliding a card into the slot.

"I'm paying."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Don't be an ass," Steve says, blushing and wanting to take it back the moment he says it. But Tony just quirks his eyebrows and passes him the check.

And Tony's been very nice and polite for the entire dinner, but as soon as they get in the car he gives Steve a serious look and says, "What's the deal with Shield?"

"Pardon?"

"What kind of hold do they have over you?"

"I owe them."

And Tony scoffs. "You don't."

Steve shrugs. "I wish I didn't. But I do. I didn't exactly have any money left over when they unfroze me. Before the reward money they paid for everything."

"You have money now. Why not sever ties?"

"How do you know I haven't?"

Tony smiles. "I know everything."

His question had been a joke but now he's pretty sure Tony means it. "How do you know?"

Tony shrugs. "I'm in the system. At Shield. Fury realized he couldn't keep me out so he put me in charge."

"Oh."

"I've been kind of keeping tabs on you," Tony says, sort of apologetically. "Not... in a creepy way, or whatever. Just, making sure they hadn't, you know, turned you into one of them."

He feels like that should bother him, but it doesn't. "You mean, no navy blue skin tight suits?"

Tony laughs. "No, I mean, well, I don't trust Fury. I know that I'll never be able to, and I can work with him fine, I'm okay with that. But with you, and Clint, and Natasha, and Thor, it just feels like maybe I could."

Oh. So it's not just him. "Because we fought together that one time."

"It's more than that," Tony says. "Don't you think so?"

"What about Bruce?"

"I live with him," Tony says. "No need to wonder."

Steve knows Tony knows that he's avoiding the question, but Tony doesn't push it. He just takes a moment to curse out another driver, and then he changes the subject. Sort of. "Have you thought about getting a job? Then you could pay them back and be free to pursue... other things."

"I came pretty close to joining the army," Steve says, and he's not sure why Tony seems to dislike that. "Except then I found out what that's like nowadays. There's no need for a super soldier when it's all about the weapons."

"What would you want to do?"

Steve shrugs. "What I want to do isn't practical."

"Tell me anyway."

"I wanted to be a comic book artist, before the war," he says, and smiles, thinking back on that. "Never thought I'd be in one."

"And I liked being an Avenger, actually," he adds, because Tony's got him thinking about it again. "As short as that was."

"That's not over," Tony says. "We're still Avengers."

He nods, doing the best to make his face agree. He knows Tony's still an Avenger. But Steve's not really. He's not sure he ever was. He wants more than anything to be like he was six months ago, by which he actually means 70 years ago, but he feels like that opportunity has passed. He can't miss 70 years of the world and then expect to join in like he can still be a valuable member of the team.

He changes the subject, and Tony raises an eyebrow to show that he knows what Steve's doing, but he starts talking about himself anyway.

They get back to Tony's garage, and it's difficult, but Steve's steeled himself. He can tell Tony expects him to come in, so as soon as he's stepped out of the car he swallows and says, "I, uh, don't want to come in."

Tony hesitates, looking at Steve as though he's not quite sure what to make of him. "Are you sure I can't persuade you to change your mind? I mean, it's kind of de rigeur to come in after a date these days. Just, you know, for a bit. You can leave whenever you want."

Steve meets him behind the car, stands just inches from him. "My date, my rules," he says with a smile, settling his hands on Tony's hips like it's not a big deal to him that he's touching Tony there. "Guess you'll just have to ask me out again."

And he pulls Tony closer, kisses him once, chastely, pulling away before Tony gets a chance to try and make it something more, because he's not sure he can resist that.

"Goodnight," he says, already walking to his motorcycle as he does so because he's afraid that if he sticks around it's going to be obvious what sort of effect Tony has on him. He doesn't want to feel like the only one who's head over heels just from kissing.

And he looks back, once, before he leaves, and Tony's still standing behind the car, smiling, watching him drive away.

The next morning he wakes up to a blinking red light on his answering machine.

"Hey Steve, it's Tony." He's whispering, which explains why Steve didn't wake up. "I hope I didn't wake you up, sometimes I forget that not everybody's awake at 3 a.m.. And you should really just get a cell phone. Think about it. But, I didn't call to lecture you on your technology choices. So is it rude to assume that you're free tomorrow night? Because I have tickets for the Rangers game, and I was really hoping you would join me."

He goes to see Peggy feeling overwhelmingly happy for once.

And he walks in the door with a smile, and he's almost to Peggy's room when Theresa intercepts him, pulling him into an empty room with a strange look on her face.

"You're him, aren't you," she says. "Captain America."


	5. Chapter 5

"I- no," he says, stammers. "I'm not."

He doesn't want to lie. "Not anymore."

"Oh." She seems surprised, which isn't the reaction he's expecting from someone who just practically declared his secret identity.

"How did you know?"

Theresa pauses before answering, as though his discomfort is rubbing off on her. "I googled you."

"You _what_?"

She bites her lip. "I'm sorry, it's just that I was curious, and, well, we learned about Captain America in social studies, and Peggy said she was there, when it happened, and you look so –" she claps a hand over her mouth as though she can't stop talking any other way. "I promise I won't tell anyone."

Steve sits heavily on the bed. "Thank you."

He should be happy. He hates having a secret identity. He should be glad that someone else knows. But he's not. All he can feel is the crushing expectations. He'd be okay with her knowing, if Captain America didn't stand for anything, if it didn't stand for someone he used to be but really isn't anymore.

Theresa stands with one hand on the foot of the bed, not looking at him. He wishes she would leave. He wants to be alone. But he can't bring himself to push her away.

She studies him for a moment. "Was she – did you know her back then?"

He's still just comprehending the question when she corrects herself. "I mean, obviously you knew her, but were you –"

"I loved her."

There's this silence that stretches on forever, but Steve's detached from it, he's just floating above it, a little bit light headed.

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." She stands up and places a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's fine," he says. It's not.

She leaves, apologizing again, entreating him that if he ever needs to talk she'll listen. And he sits there for a bit, and then he gets up, and walks out of the room, and then he walks down the hallway, and out of the building, and comes so close to breaking the speed limit on his way back to the city.

The next day he almost cancels on Tony, because he doesn't feel like going out. He feels like staying in and heating up some hot chocolate on the stove and then trying to go to bed early even though he's not tired.

He doesn't really care if that blows his last chance with Tony.

The only reason he ends up going is that he never gets around to calling. It's rude to give such short notice.

When he steps into the car he's surprised to see Tony looking unusually pedestrian, wearing jeans and an oversized jersey.

"You... shaved."

"Strong powers of deduction there, cap," Tony says, winking.

"Why?"

"Trying to fly under the radar. I've got a very distinct look, so most people –" he nods toward the mini bar, "feel free to grab a drink – most people won't recognize me without it."

Steve politely declines, feeling a little overdressed in his button up and khakis.

"I'd have done it last time we went out but it only really works in crowds. Only sometimes. Still worth a try. We have ginger ale, or water, if you don't want anything alcoholic."

Steve agrees, if only for something to do with his hands. Tony finds something else to do with his hands.

"Tony," he hisses. "Happy is right there."

"Can't see or hear anything," Tony says, unbuttoning the top button of Steve's shirt. "Besides, he's very discreet."

He wrinkles his nose. "Okay, he's kind of discreet. But people who are very discreet are also very boring."

"Tony," Steve says, a hint of warning in his voice, as Tony's slides a hand beneath his shirt, gently massaging his chest.

"I'm sorry," Tony says, not being sorry in the slightest. "I just can't keep my hands off of you. You have a very nice body, did you know that? I mean, if I were you, I'd just spend all day in front of the mirror looking at it."

Steve's jaw clenches, his stomach sinking. He didn't want this to happen. He should have known it would.

"Everything special about me came out of a bottle," he says, vision fixed straight ahead, nostrils flaring. "That is what you said, right?"

And for once, Tony Stark misses an opportunity to speak.

"If you just want me for my body, fine," Steve says, because he can't reject him. He can't do it. He needs him. He wants him. He wants Tony to care about him and look at him like he's the only person in the world. But he'll settle. He'll settle for anything and it kills him to know that he will. "But then let's cut the crap, okay?"

"Well, I don't just want you for your body, so, uh, how about we go back to the part where we were having fun." His hand's still on Steve's chest, his tone is light, and it all just makes him want to cry.

Tony's silent for a while, until it becomes clear to both of them that Steve isn't going to respond. Then he extricates his hand, a rush of cold air taking its place above Steve's heart.

"Look," Tony says, taking one of Steve's hands in both of his, talking down to him just a little, "we both said a lot of things on that helicarrier that we didn't mean, right?"

Steve nods, the last dregs of anger dissipating entirely into despondency. Because whether or not Tony meant it doesn't make it any less true.

"I like you because you're confident and capable and not afraid to stand up for what you think is right, not because you have perfect pecs."

He shouldn't believe him. Not with everything he's heard about Tony Stark. But he wants to.

"I'm sorry," he says, wondering how to explain himself without sounding ridiculously insecure. "I overreacted."

Tony shrugs. "Don't apologize. I know I have a reputation. But I swear, I'm really not that guy."

So Steve nods, pretending that it's Tony who was the problem, because it's so much easier than admitting how he feels about himself.

"Are we good?"

"Yeah."

The stadium is huge, swarming with people, and where Steve used to be perfectly fine around people now he feels a little overwhelmed. But it makes him feel less like the center of his world, and he likes that.

Tony describes the seats as terrible, but they're not. They are small, though, so that when they sit down Tony's leg is pressed against his. And he moves over a bit to give Tony more room, but Tony just spreads his legs wider. He'd should be annoyed, and he has no idea why Tony needs all of that room, but there's still something he really likes about that proximity.

And he watches out of the corner of his eye as Tony takes a big bite of his hot dog, watches his lips close around it, and he remembers Tony, naked, saying "I can suck you off."

He's glad for the cold air, and the game, and the thousands of shouting fans for taking his mind off of that. He shouldn't be thinking about sex. He should be thinking about getting to know him, and connecting with him, and not the gentle curve of his hips or the way their lips feel together.

"Oh," Tony says, turning to face him, and Steve almost spills his beer thinking that Tony's caught him staring. And then Tony pulls a hat out from under his arm. "I also got you this."

Steve's not sure what to say. He doesn't want to accept the hat and let Tony think he can just buy Steve things, not after they fought over the bill at the diner. But he's already complained about the beer and he wants even more for Tony not to think he's ungrateful, so he thanks him and puts it on.

"Red white and blue," Tony says, gesturing at it. "Kinda fitting, huh?"

Steve musters a small smile and nods.

He tries to get into the game, but it's hard. He doesn't know the rules, and he's a little too distracted by Tony's presence. He keeps wanting to steal glances at him, make sure he's enjoying himself.

Of course, the second he does, arena erupts into jeers.

"What happened?"

"Icing," Tony says, like that's an explanation. And then, realizing Steve doesn't really know anything about the game, he begins narrating it.

That helps, a lot. He's still distracted by Tony, but the game takes more and more of his attention, until Steve finds himself at the edge of his seat, completely enraptured, swearing when the other team scores.

Tony looks at him and raises an eyebrow. "'Dang it?' That's cute."

At some point Tony's hand finds its way to Steve's knee. And he pretends not to notice, but in reality it's all he can focus on. Part of him is worried that someone's going to notice, but mostly he doesn't care about that. Mostly he just likes the way it feels. He likes the way it makes him feel. To know that Tony Stark wants him back, it makes him bold enough to do something he never thought he'd do in public.

The noise of the crowd dulls to a slight buzzing in his ears as he creeps his hand closer, careful not to look, heart pounding with a sort of anxiety that he's never felt before, not when they gave the serum, not when he was fighting Nazis, not even when he's been kissed. It's not like that now. He's not being passive, and he's not fulfilling a duty. He's taking what he wants, and he knows that what he wants is ridiculously unimportant and even dangerous, if anyone sees them. And the consequences, of all of this, are so much worse than anything he's done before. He's been beat into a pulp and he's been broken and he's been lonely but Tony could crush him if he wanted to.

He's trusting him not to.

He places his hand over Tony's, pausing to let him pull away, to realize that he's not okay with it, but he doesn't. He turns his hand over, threading his fingers through Steve's. He shifts so that there's a gap between them, and they slip their hands into it, dangling them where no one can see.

In the gap between the second and third periods, Steve finally asks the question that's been bothering him all night.

"What does it mean to 'google' someone?"

Tony gives him a strange look. "Uh, it's when you search for them on google. Why, you wanna find out about my past? Because that won't be fun for either of us."

"No," Steve says. "Of course not. What you want to tell me is your choice. I was just curious. What is Google?"

"It's a search engine."

"Search engine?"

Tony raises an eyebrow at him. "Have you ever used a computer?"

It's pretty obvious that he expects the answer to be yes.

"Only to read files."

"Oh." Tony looks like he's on the verge of some cutting remark or another, but he stops himself. "Well."

And he explains what all of those things mean, which just leads Steve to more questions, until Tony says, "Know what? I'll just show you."

"What about the game?"

Tony laughs, and squeezes Steve's hand. "I meant after."

"Oh," Steve says. "Okay."

On the ride home from the game, Tony behaves himself, grabbing a drink and making cheap small talk which eventually trails off, leaving them in silence.

"I didn't know you followed hockey," Steve says, figuring that he can get Tony to fill the silence talking about it.

"I don't," Tony says. "I learned the rules yesterday so I could impress you."

Steve grins. "I don't think you're supposed to admit to that."

"What, and not get credit for all of the hard work I put in? That doesn't sound like me." He winks, raising his drink to Steve and then taking a sip. "What's your favorite sport?"

"Baseball."

Tony nods knowingly, arching one eyebrow. "America's pastime, right."

Steve shrugs, offering up a small smile. It's not like he has a monopoly on all things American.

"I'll have to take you to a game when the season starts," Tony says. "I have great seats, you'll love 'em."

Steve nods. He tries not to think anything of the fact that Tony's basically asked him to do something months from now. He probably didn't even consider it, that it implies they'll still have a reason to see each other. Steve's probably overthinking it.

And while he's preoccupied with that, Tony cups his cheek with one hand, gently turning him until they're looking right at one another. "Am I allowed to tell you how beautiful your eyes are?"

Steve's mind flashes with things to say, jokes to make, ranging from 'no' to an insult on Tony's smooth talking skills, but Tony's not waiting for an answer. Tony's already closed the distance between them, lips pressing against his.

There's a knock at the door and Steve jerks away, bumping Tony's nose with his chin, so that he swears under his breath while Steve wipes his mouth and tries to look normal.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, mortified, and Tony shrugs it off, wrinkling his nose once before opening the door himself.

"You don't have to knock every time I have another person in here," he says, in completely unfounded indignation. "I don't know what I'm paying you for if I have to open my own doors all the time."

Happy grins. "You're paying me for the pain and suffering associated with the last three times." He nods at Steve. "No offense, Captain."

"None taken," Steve says, not sure what, exactly, he's supposed to be offended by.

He follows Tony into the mansion, into a ground floor office containing what Tony explains is the guest computer, and he takes a seat at the chair as Tony assures him that it's very easy to use, even a child can do it, even a cat, probably.

"I'm not stupid," Steve says. He knows Tony's just joking, but that doesn't make it any less upsetting, being treated like an inferior person just because he's not from the same era.

"Uh, so anyway, it runs on some sort of electricity," Tony says, winking, and then he launches into some complicated explanation of parts that Steve catches half of.

He shows Steve Google, and then he runs through some other websites, and then he seems to get a bit impatient and places his hand over Steve's, rests his chin on Steve's shoulder, and takes over. And even though he explains everything as he goes, Steve's only focused on the light flex of Tony's muscles on his arm as he clicks things, on the soft caress of Tony's breath on his ear.

He shouldn't be distracted. He should he able to ignore those things, and he could, because if anything he has too much willpower, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want this to be the only part of his life that he has control over. He wants to let go. He wants to feel like he's falling, and know that Tony's there to catch him.

He wants Tony to let him do all of those things that he won't let himself do. He wants to have sex with him. Tonight. He wants to ignore all of the consequences and all of the expectations, and he wants to do what he wants, for once. He won't make it happen, he knows he's not ready to do that, but he's not going to stop it if it does.

"You're not listening to me, are you?" Tony's voice is soft and teasing, and then his tongue slides along Steve's ear.

He freezes up a little, trying not to react even as the slight touch has this ripple effect, a tingling that spreads across his face.

"Red's a good color on you, Cap," Tony says, with a smirk that Steve can feel, and his cheeks grow even hotter.

He wishes Tony wouldn't call him that. Not now.

"How about," Tony says, kissing him on the neck, making Steve breathe out hints of syllables that he doesn't remember forming. "I teach you a little something else now, hmm?"

Somehow they find their way the three feet to the couch, bodies pressed so insistently together that it's frightening, for Steve, to want someone so badly and so physically and so quickly.

Tony slides a hand under Steve's shirt so he just takes it off, shivering as Tony's hands explore his sides, moaning as Tony's lips brush along the sensitive skin on the side of his neck. It feels so good, and he can do this, he can give in to this, to what Tony wants. He can do that.

"Tell me what you want," Tony whispers. "I won't do anything if you don't say it's okay"

He doesn't want that responsibility. He wants Tony to drag him into the underworld of broken morality, to make him give in to his crooked desires. And what he really doesn't want is what happens: his hand brushes against Tony's crotch, and it makes his conscience kick in. He can't be doing this. Not so quickly. Not like this.

"I should go," Steve says, pulling away, trying not to look at the tent in Tony's pants, trying to ignore the pressure in his own. He stands up, grabs his shirt, backs a step away from the couch. He should never have let things get so far.

"Already? Really?" Tony's frowning at him, breathing heavily, like he's trying to decide between confusion and anger, like Steve's just stolen his favorite toy. "Come on, we haven't even done anything. We can stop whenever you're not comfortable."

"It's late," he says, swallowing. It is. It's very late. But Steve barely sleeps anyway.

"So let's go to bed," Tony says, biting the corner of his lip and, looking at Steve with those eyes, warm and deliberately innocent. And he stands up, takes the step to reach Steve's side, arm sliding around his waist, body coming to rest against his, lips sucking on the corner of his jaw before whispering in his ear, "I need you."

It's hyperbole. It's hyperbole because Tony wants to have sex, that's what Steve keeps repeating to himself as he gently removes Tony's hand from his back pocket and extricates himself from his grasp, trying to ignore the way Tony's lips slide along his clavicle because it's not fair, for Tony to have this sort of effect on him. Tony doesn't actually need him, but Steve might. Steve might really need Tony and he can't let himself blow it just because Tony wants to have sex with him. He doesn't care what Peggy said, he knows that you don't get respect by giving in too early.

"I said I have to go."

"A minute ago you were just as into this as I was." Tony folds his arms across his chest, looking just a little bit like the person Steve fought with on the helicarrier. "You can't just change your mind when things are getting good."

"I can, and I did, and I'd appreciate it if you would stop trying to persuade me otherwise," Steve says, folding his own arms across his too-naked chest. He knows it's perfect and impressive and doesn't undermine his authority at all, but he wonders if he'll ever be able to get past the way that years of being the skinny, sickly one have made him uncomfortable not being clothed. He still feels that same pressing need to assert himself, to make sure that

"If I'm going to have sex with you then first I need to know that you respect me," he says, feeling his eyes narrow, hearing that hard edge in his voice. "And it's hard to think you do if you won't respect my decisions."

Tony looks a bit stricken, and any sort of self righteousness that Steve had been feeling evaporates. "Wow," Tony says, stepping away like he's been struck. "Okay, well, way to blow things out of proportion."

Steve doesn't say anything.

"Okay, well, if that's how you feel," Tony says, laughing a humorless laugh. "If that's how Captain America feels, then, sure."

Steve nods, not wanting to make things worse by saying the wrong thing, but still completely opposed to capitulating. He pulls his shirt on, pretending not to watch Tony, who seems to be pretending not to care.

Just when he's decided the silence has stretched on too long, Tony turns to offer him a thin smile. "Happy's off, but I can drive you home."

"I'll walk."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Even ignoring how cold it is, that'll take like two hours."

"Hour and a half. A lot less if I take the subway." He can sense Tony readying himself for a fight, so he softens. "Look, I had a great time tonight. I'm just not ready for things to move so quickly."

Tony thinks it over, which Steve knows is just for show because there's no way Tony has ever thought that slowly in his life. But what Tony finally decides on is a begrudging smile. "I did too. I'm just not used to things moving so slowly."

They let that hang in the air, let things cool off a bit, Tony's slacks still advertising his arousal.

"So," Steve says, feeling bold. "Do I get a good night kiss?"

Tony laughs, but it's a real laugh this time. "You're a fucking tease, Rogers," he says, smile playing on his lips.

"That's not a no." Steve catches Tony's hand in his, his other hand sliding into Tony's hair, and he kisses him, a kiss that's decidedly, forcefully chaste except for the way that he's practically wrapped around him.

He wants to get cocky on him, to tease him a bit, with his fingers or his tongue, and then pull away, lean back one last time to whisper in his ear "I'm worth it."

He wants to, but he's not sure. He's not at all sure that he is. He used to be, maybe, but now –

"You okay there, Cap? The kiss wasn't that bad. And look, I'm keeping my hands to myself." He holds them up to prove it. "And it's killing me, it really is."

Steve smiles a small perfunctory smile. "I'm tired," he says, which is a true statement. And he's been trying so hard not to be too assertive about things Tony would find trivial, but he can't let it go anymore. "And, would you mind not calling me that? I'm not a Captain anymore."

Tony raises an eyebrow and shrugs. "Alright, popsicle."


	6. Chapter 6

On their next date – dinner at the Stark mansion, because they can't exactly keep going out – Tony gives him a cell phone.

"I can't accept this," he says.

Tony rolls his eyes. "It's not a present for you, it's a present for me. Think of it like a walkie talkie. I have one, and you don't, which makes mine kinda useless."

"I already have a phone," Steve says, looking at his reflection on the surface of the sleek rectangle.

"Yeah, but not like this," Tony says. "This one lets you send text messages."

"Instead of an answering machine?"

Tony smiles. "Sort of."

"I like hearing your voice."

"Stop making excuses and just say thank you."

"I'm not kidding, Tony." He hears the hard edge to his voice so he tries to tone it down. "I can't let you spend this kind of money on me."

Tony smirks. "You don't even know what that costs."

"I know it's too much."

"I spent two million dollars this week. Trust me, it's not too much."

"What could you have possibly spent two million dollars on?"

Tony shrugs. "Lots of things. Take the damn phone."

He begrudgingly accepts it, planning to use it once – to call whatever phone company Tony got it from and find out how to return it. But then he gets a few text messages, and learns how to send one, and realizes the utility of having so much extra time to come up with things to say.

It turns out he can flirt, actually, when he's not put on the spot. Or, at least, he can answer Tony's messages in a way that is neither bland nor overly hostile, which is really all that he can ask of himself at this point in his life.

On their fifth date, Tony calls to apologize and say he's in Malibu, and he won't be able to make it. He hopes Steve wasn't already on his way over.

"This won't happen again," he says, after telling Pepper to please just give him a minute, it's an important call. "No, actually, it will, probably. Definitely. I'm not very good at remembering things. But I am sorry."

As much as Steve was looking forward to seeing him, the honesty's almost enough to make up for it. And what really makes up for it is when Tony calls him later, when they can actually talk. He turns down Tony's requests to let him fly Steve out, and he quietly defuses Tony's plan to take him to LA another weekend and show him the sights. That's taking the charity way too far. But aside from that it's great, and even though it irks him when Tony tries to spend money on him, it still makes him feel good, that Tony wants to.

He's not sure what Tony's game is. He wants to think that he doesn't have one, because Steve gave him the go ahead and he turned it down, but he still can't imagine what Tony gets out of just talking to him. He's not a good conversationalist, not where Tony's concerned, and even though Tony protested when he was put on the spot, Steve still knows most of his worth comes from his body.

But Steve loves listening to Tony, so he keeps his doubts to himself and he asks a lot of questions. And when Tony interrupts himself to say "hey, it's pretty late, should I let you get to bed?" Steve instinctively says no before realizing that Tony was just looking for a way to end the conversation.

By the time he realizes that, though, it's too late to fix it.

But in the next few weeks they spend what seems like all of Tony's free time together, so Steve assumes he didn't mess things up too badly.

Part of it is because Tony's teaching him how to use a computer. It's slow going, taking up most of Tony's lunch breaks. And Steve is terrible at it, really awful, he can never remember all of the commands, and then it seems like there's always something new that he has to master. It's like learning a whole new language.

And Tony keeps saying that he's doing great, picking it up really fast, but Steve finds it really hard to believe that computers would be so popular if it was impressive to be hopeless at coding after weeks of tutoring from one of the smartest men in the world.

The downside to spending what seems like all of Tony's free time together is that the rest of his free time tends to occur at night.

Steve always heard that the way relationships worked was that eventually the guy would start pressuring the girl to have sex and she would either hold out until they got married or else give in early and risk getting pregnant just because she loved him.

But with him and Tony eventually is right away, and they're both men and neither of them can get pregnant so it's all that Steve can do to slow that race down to a pace that doesn't terrify him out of his mind. He wants it too, he just doesn't know how to give in when it goes against everything he's been taught.

And Tony reassures him that it's fine with one breath and gets frustrated in the next, but it's nothing that Steve hasn't been thinking, himself. They're both fighting Steve's conscience. Tony's just trying a little harder, because Steve's not entirely sure that his conscience is wrong. He's not entirely sure that this is how fast things are supposed to move with someone you're not even going steady with.

"Yeah, no problem," Tony says one night, when Steve calls to say that it's too late to come over, after all. "I'm sure I can manage to get blue balls on my own for once."

There's silence on the line where Steve can't think of anything to say.

"I'm kidding," Tony adds, forcefully, and pauses. "Kind of."

It's not that he means for things to get that way. It's just that Steve finds it hard to be around Tony and not be touching him, and when he's touching him, no matter what they're talking about there's always that moment when he has to kiss him, and it turns out that Tony is terrible at saying no to things that he wants.

"Jesus Christ," Tony says, on a night when they've gotten particularly far, when Steve's so close to capitulating before reality crashes down upon him and makes him stop. "I haven't masturbated this much since middle school."

Steve doesn't masturbate. His frustrations come out in his dreams, dreams that are vivid and detailed and sensual. Dreams where he kisses every part of Tony's body, dreams that he falls into halfway, so that they're already naked, cleverly skipping over his recent inability to make it past the stage where the pants start to come off.

Dreams where Tony ejaculated in Steve's mouth and he swallows it, unwilling to miss a drop, like there's something special about his sperm. Something that leaves him feeling warm and comforted from the inside out, so that even if he wakes up and finds that his sheets could maybe use changing, he just curls up and thinks about him some more. That feeling – it makes him worry that the real thing could never be nearly as good as the things he and Tony do in his sleep.

"So just to clarify," Tony says, over lunch one day, "you're not one of those "no sex until marriage" types, right?"

And Steve thinks that's a strange way to put it, because obviously if he's going out with Tony he's not planning on getting married. But he understands what he's asking. "No."

"Then you gotta give me something to go off of," Tony says, teasing in a way that Steve has learned means he's serious. "I don't mind waiting, but does waiting mean days, or weeks, or months, or years, or what?"

It's a question Steve would love to have the answer to.

He spent years upholding this self-imposed honor code that he didn't have to uphold and now he has nothing to show for it, but it's still so difficult to break.

"Weeks, I guess," he says, trying not to show the irritation in his voice. "I don't know. When it feels right. I'm not trying to make this difficult."

Tony notices anyway. "Calm down. It was just a question."

"It was just an answer."

Tony shrugs. "Okay, forget I said anything."

On the 14th, he agrees to meet Tony at Stark Tower for dinner. But it's later than usual, at a time when Steve has to let himself in by key card, and when he does there's no one in the lobby to avoid.

Tony meets him on the bottom floor, but instead of going outside he immediately turns and leads him back to the elevator, pushing the button for the top floor before he pins Steve against the wall and kisses him.

"I forgot something upstairs," Tony says, a strange little excited smile on his face. "Won't take long."

When they get off it's at Tony's top floor, the one with the Iron Man landing strip. And Steve follows Tony out of the elevator, wondering what he could have possibly been doing out there.

And then he sees it. The landing has been decorated, and there's a candle-lit table, and Steve can only blink and wonder what this means.

"Happy Valentine's day."

Oh. "Oh, Tony, I'm so sorry, I completely forgot –"

Tony rolls his eyes and cuts him off with a kiss. "Don't be so serious and responsible all the time. Just enjoy it."

And he does. The seclusion of Stark Tower gives them all of the privacy that they can't have in public, lets him hold Tony's hand and eat off his plate and stare into his eyes and other things that Steve thought were stupid before he had the chance to do them. It lets them flirt without any sort of fear that someone's going to see. It's great.

Tony's gotten everything they ate on their first date – "I thought about doing our second, since it was kind of our first, but that's something you eat all the time," he explains – and it's like a chance to redo it, to enjoy it properly.

Dinner seems to pass so quickly, and when Steve looks down at his watch and realizes it's been more than two hours, he's shocked.

And he thinks that he should mention how late it's getting, but, well, there's something that he's been wanting to do with Tony for a long time. He's just not sure how to ask.

"Do – do people still dance the way they used to?"

Tony grins. "Not the way they used to, no," he says. "At least, the kids don't. And I have no idea how to swing dance, but I do know a couple of ballroom steps. What'd you have in mind?"

"Oh, I don't know how to dance," Steve admits, self-consciously taking sip of water.

Tony watches him for a second, and then he raises an eyebrow. "Jarvis, we got any good waltzes?"

"We don't have to –"

"My date, my rules. Now, Mr. Rogers, may I have this dance?"

He stands, feeling foolish and oafish and convinced he's going to ruin the night by embarrassing himself. And Tony takes his hand and pulls him close, and then closer. "It's not proper form to have any space between us," he says, and Steve silently thanks whoever came up with dancing for the way that Tony's pressed up right against him.

"Just, do what I do, but backward," Tony says, talking into Steve's ear. "You'll pick it up."

"I'm not so certain that I will."

Tony laughs. "I can go put on some steel toed boots, if you would prefer."

Steve smiles, and he realizes that they've already started swaying to the music. And it's an easier segue than he expected, but trying to actually dance, even with the quick explanation of the steps that Tony gives him, is still harder than he'd expected.  
Tony's patient though, and he slows down, walks them through it again, has Jarvis slow the music down so they can try it at a glacial pace. And even though Steve's awful at it, he doesn't mind that so much. Not when there's a strong guiding hand on his shoulder and Tony's breath hot on his ear as he whispers direction.

He tries not to watch his feet too much, tries to look at Tony, but that's not very successful. None of it's very successful. But it feels okay to laugh, it feels great, actually, to fail and then laugh with Tony about it. To support Tony as he collapses, sobbing with laughter, against Steve's chest, and then to try it again.

"I'm so glad you're bad at this," Tony whispers, and Steve's not sure how that seems romantic, but it does. It makes him feel safe in this inexplicable way, to be liked for doing something poorly.

And then Tony gives up and just wraps both arms loosely around his neck, swaying in place. "I call this one the junior prom," he says, smirking. "Not nearly as refined, of course, but much better for... other things."

Steve doesn't have to wonder what those other things are. He looks into Tony's eyes and then he closes his eyes and kisses him, soft and slow, like they're the only two people in the world. And from their vantage point, high above everything, they may as well be.

It feels completely like a fairytale. He's standing hundreds of feet above Manhattan, seventy years in the future, big and strong and physically perfect, kissing a man who he's in love with, as Tony's almost sentient building plays some song about – well, he's not sure what it's about, because most of the lyrics seem to be la, la la la la – but it's futuristic and a little sad and somehow still sweet.

His life seems more perfect than he could ever have imagined it being.

After that he's expecting them to go back to their usual date-time activity, expecting Tony to needle him a little harder because it's a special occasion, to remind him of how long he's been waiting and how much effort he's put in. Let him know that there's a scale, weighing all the things Tony does for him, and now that it's tipped, he's obligated to have sex with him.

He'd do it. He'd do anything, right now, if Tony asked him.

But Tony doesn't ask. Instead, he leads Steve back inside, turns on the fireplace, and the television, and they curl up on the couch and watch Roman Holiday.

And if Tony's intention is to make Steve fall in love with him, it's working. And if Tony's intention is to make Steve sleep with him then that's working too. Because lying there, nestled between Tony and the couch, Tony's back pressed firmly against his chest, he feels more secure than he has in quite a long time. He feels like his life has purpose again, and meaning, and even if that purpose is just to cuddle with Tony forever he's okay with that because at least it makes him feel good for once. And he wonders why he's been so insistent on avoiding something that they clearly both want, just because he thinks he's supposed to.

When the movie's over, and they're still cuddling on the couch, Steve can only think about how perfect it is.

The next thing he knows, he's being shaken awake. "Come on, sleepyhead. I have an actual bed here."

Steve sits up and rubs his eyes. "I should go home," he says, and Tony rolls his eyes.

"It's late, you're tired. I'll sleep on the couch if you want me to."

"No, you don't have to do that."

"Good," Tony says. "I was bluffing."

Steve yawns. "I can sleep on the couch."

"Uh-uh, not happening," Tony says. "Come on. I'm not gonna start anything, if that's what you're afraid of."

Steve blushes. "No, I –"

"I'm just teasing," Tony says, and maybe it's a good thing he cut Steve off, because Steve was about to say that he wouldn't mind that.

And it's true, he wouldn't, but he's so very tired, and maybe he should sleep on it.

As for sleeping here, he's a little worried that he can't trust what his dreams will be like. He doesn't wake up in a cold sweat, not anymore, hasn't for months. That still doesn't mean he won't.

But, well, Tony's asked him to sleep over before – or, at least, mentioned it in passing, or because it was late, or because they'd wound up watching a movie on Tony's bed and neither of them wanted to get up – and Steve's always said no. He shouldn't say no again.

It's a little thing, but he thinks it'll make Tony happy, and he really wants to make Tony happy.

He wakes up feeling comfortable but very disoriented. And he's a little concerned until he realizes that the strange sensation on his head is just Tony's hand, that he's sleeping in Tony's bed and Tony's just absentmindedly stroking Steve's hair as he sits next to him, reading something on his tablet.

Tony looks down at him and smiles, ruffles his hair, and goes back to reading. And Steve buries his head in the pillow so that Tony won't see the painfully and uncontrollably large smile that's spreading across his face.

He's half convinced last night was an amazing dream. And if it's not, well, then the unbelievably strong joy he's feeling is completely reasonable. It's just not something he necessarily wants Tony to see.

Once he's gotten that under control he turns over, stretches and yawns. "What time is it?"

"8:30."

"I should leave," Steve says, running a hand through his hair, wondering why Tony didn't wake him.

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Why, you got somewhere to go?"

"No, but you have work," Steve says, and then reconsiders. "Don't you?"

Tony lifts the tablet. "Got it covered. I don't have a meeting until 11. Was thinking we could have breakfast."

"Oh." Steve smiles, snuggling up against Tony, and yawns. "Okay."

He runs his fingers across Tony's bare stomach, thinking about how easy it would be to slide his fingers lower. He wants to, he really, really wants to, but it's selfish to think that can get in the way of Tony's work.

"So," Steve says, taking the last bite of what Tony had playfully and inexplicably referred to as freedom toast. "Who do I have to thank for all of this?"

Tony chokes on his coffee. "I'm insulted," he says, grinning over the rim of the cup. "I was absolutely at least 25% responsible for planning and execution."

"Pepper?"

"Yes, but you'd better not go date her instead. I am a much better dancer than she is."

Steve smiles, taking a sip of orange juice so that he doesn't have to come up with a response to that.

"Oh," Tony says, placing a hand on Steve's knee. "I almost forgot. I signed you up for a graphic design class."

Steve spits the orange juice back into his cup. "You what?"

"That's, uh, not exactly the response I was looking for."

"You should have asked me first."

Tony rolls his eyes. "That's not how presents work."

"Well –"

"Look, if you don't want to go, you don't have to go. I just thought it would be good for you to have something to do. And hell, who knows, maybe one day you'll get a job out of it."

Steve shrugs. "Okay."

Tony smirks. "See, this is why I pretended to almost forget."

"I'm just –"

"Wildly ungrateful?"

Steve smiles, catching Tony's hand as it begins to travel a little too far up his inner thigh. "Fair enough."

"Well," Tony says, wrinkling his nose, "I guess I have to go get dressed."

Steve doesn't say anything, he just plays with Tony's fingers. He doesn't want this to be over already.

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Unless you have other ideas?"

He does, but – well, he's not going to interrupt Tony's work day. No matter how much he wants to.

So he lets Tony get dressed, and says goodbye to him properly. And as he leaves down the back entrance, the memory of Tony's lips still fresh against his, he wonders how he could ever have thought that everything in his life wasn't perfect.


	7. Chapter 7

He doesn't want to go back to his bland, dark apartment, not after seeing how much better everything could be. He's completely happy, for once, and hopeful, and just a little bit he has something to look forward to, because he absolutely has to do something in return.

So he goes to visit Peggy, because the last thing he wants to do right now is be alone. He's happy and he wants to share it, and it's the first time he's felt this way in a very long time. He likes the feeling. He feels more like himself.

The only problem with not being alone is that he has to interact with people. And in particular, Theresa will be there.

He hasn't seen her in weeks, which is something that has been bothering him, just a little bit, but he hasn't picked up the paper and seen his face plastered on it so he imagines that she's keeping his secret.

And he's not entirely sure he's going to see her today, but she usually works Fridays. He hasn't even seen her since she confronted him, because Tony's been keeping his weekdays filled, and at this point it's been so long that he's not even sure how to approach her.

His instinct is to pull her aside and apologize, but he's talked about it a lot with Tony – or, rather, been lectured about it by Tony, because that's how Tony gets when he thinks he's right – and he thinks maybe he should give Tony's advice a shot.

So when he sees her down the hall, he just puts on a cocky grin, meets her eye, salutes, and winks. And it makes him feel completely ridiculous, but she smiles back, and winks, and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

And then he spends the rest of the day hoping that she'll come into Peggy's room so that he can follow his instincts instead, but she doesn't.

When Peggy asks about Tony, he just smiles, and says, "he's perfect."

And then she asks how the sex is and he chokes and turns red and changes the subject.

He spends most of the afternoon with her, but he's not very focused. He's thinking about Tony. He has to do something in return, something to let him know how much he appreciates everything. Something so that Tony won't feel like he just did all that for nothing.

And he's thought about it, a lot, but he can't make sex be that thing he does in return. Because it shouldn't be about that. It should be about love and intimacy and even if Tony doesn't love him, it needs to feel like it. That much he's at least sure of. If he offers sex as a reward then it'll lose something.

He thinks about asking Peggy, but he wants this to be his idea.

He's so preoccupied that when he runs into Theresa on his way out, he completely forgets that he wanted to talk to her. And when she asks him if he wants to go have dinner, he suggests next week, instead, because he has some things to do.

Those things take most of the night because everything he's thinking of is stupid, or nobody does it anymore, or it would involve being out in public, or it'd involve a thousand things that don't work, so finally he just picks something easy and commits.

He knows it's a ridiculous, stupid idea, but it's too cold to do outside, and he's racked his brain for something, anything he can do for Tony, and he keeps coming up blank. He feels like it won't be enough, that Tony won't like a gesture as much as he likes things. But he has to do something. He can't just accept that Tony set up that amazing night for him and not do anything in return.

He gets Jarvis to let him into the mansion without telling Tony, and he sets it all up, and then he sneaks back out and rings the doorbell and prays that Tony answers it.

Tony knows he's coming, of course. Steve made sure of that. But if there's one thing he's learned in the last couple weeks, it's that Tony knowing you're coming doesn't mean that he'll remember you're coming.

So when Tony answers the door, five whole minutes later, he's a little excited to see him. And at the same time, he's terrified that Tony's going to take one look at what he's done and laugh in his face. But he knows that's actually very unlikely; what he's actually afraid of is Tony being quiet and polite, because that's what'll let Steve know that he really hates it.

Still, he feigns confidence as he not-so-subtly suggests that they go check out a deserted room, and Tony feigns complete ignorance as he agrees. Steve opens the door, steeling himself to laugh it all off.

And Tony looks around the room and smirks. "A picnic. An indoor picnic. An indoor picnic, in my house, surrounded by all of the plants that I have ever owned."

Steve smiles. "You've got a knack for observation, Stark."

"Eh, scientist, you know, sometimes it comes in handy." He sits down, opening the first picnic basket like it's a christmas present.

And he opens the bag inside of it, pulls out the napkins, sees the contents and lets out his breath. "Oh, thank God."

Steve smiles and flicks his ear. "Hey."

Tony grins. "That was a good 'thank god.'"

"Uh-huh."

Tony sighs theatrically. "Fine. Thank _you_."

Steve takes the cheeseburger out of his hand and bites into it, forgetting that leaves him incapable of pointing out that he wasn't fishing for a compliment.

But Tony's a lot more put out by the burger stealing, it seems, because he just frowns at Steve and crosses his arms against his chest. And he clears his throat, pointedly.

"I uh," he swallows, wipes his face with the back of his hand, "I bought more than one burger."

"But that one's mine," Tony says. "I licked it."

"No you didn't."

Tony smirks. "Technicality."

He sets his forehead on Steve's shoulder, snapping his teeth at Steve's sleeve. "My burger."

And it's cute, but at the same time it's unsettling because Tony's been funny and Tony's done funny things around him, but this is just silly.

"Is... everything okay?"

Tony sits up and blinks at him and smiles. "Everything's great. You're great."

He unwraps another one of the cheeseburgers and bites into it. "This is great. You're an excellent cook."

"I didn't –" Steve blushes as the smile spreads across Tony's face. "Funny."

"Thank you," Tony says, this mischievous grin spreading across his face. "I'm supposed to say thank you, right? Because I thought so, but then I got you things and you just got upset about them, so maybe I should tell you that this cheeseburger tastes too good and I'm not going have the rest of it."

Steve blushes. "I'm sorry."

Tony smirks.

"I didn't mean to be ungrateful about the graphic design class."

"Uh-huh."

"It just caught me by surprise."

"Uh-huh."

"And, I don't want to sound ungrateful again, but I'm just not sure I want to go out in public and do something on a computer when I can barely keep up with the things you're teaching me."

Tony laughs.

"And," Steve says, smiling because he wants to keep things light, "I don't appreciate being laughed at."

Tony covers his mouth. "Does it count if you can't empirically prove that I'm laughing?"

Steve sighs.

"Look, you're a genius, no one's going to even notice."

"Mhmm."

"Trust me, it's going to be so much easier than you expect. It's a class. They'll teach you how to do everything. You'll be fine."

"Mhmm."

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Steve considers. "Depends on the secret."

"I uh, I kinda like you," Tony says, leaning against him, and Steve smiles and puts an arm around his shoulders.

"I kinda like you too."

They blow through the cheeseburgers, and then dessert is strawberries and whipped cream which is not even a subtle indication of what Steve wants to happen. And Tony catches on to that before he even sees the strawberries, ordering Steve to take his shirt off so that he can lick the whipped cream off of him and Steve's okay with that.

So that's how they find themselves both half naked, the whipped cream gone, Tony's lips on Steve's nipple.

"God, you're so beautiful," he says, and Steve tenses.

Tony rolls his eyes. "Not your ridiculous muscles," he says. "Just... you."

Steve knows he should let it go, but he really wants to hear more. "That's not the same thing?"

"Nah," Tony says. "Not at all."

"That's not much of an answer," Steve says, joking, but just a little.

"Look," Tony says, smirking at him. "I think you're gonna have to start trusting me to be able to think with body parts other than my dick."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Well, my hands like you a whole lot," he says, running them over Steve's chest. "And my lips," he says, kissing his stomach. "And my tongue."

Feeling bold he puts his hand against Tony's crotch, just barely feeling the outline of his dick beneath the thick cloth. And he freezes, waiting for Tony to do something, but he doesn't. So he tries to withdraw his hand, pretend it never happened.

And then Tony's hand is on his, pressing him back down, harder, so that Steve can feel everything, and even though it's Tony's dick he feels it in his own, and he makes this involuntary noise, this little moan that feels like it's forced out of him.

Tony stops kissing him, and he puts his other hand on Steve's cheek. "Stop me if I go too far," Tony whispers, looking into Steve's eyes, still holding Steve's hand firmly against him.

"I won't." Steve whispers, and he means it, mostly.

And Tony raises one eyebrow. "As in...?"

He thinks about it, tries to figure out how to explain himself but he can't so he has to admit it. "I want this," he says, voice barely cracking above a whisper.

Tony smiles. "You mean you want _me_."

Steve makes a small noise of assent.

"Say it."

"What?"

"Say that you want me."

Steve freezes, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Come on," Tony says, cajoling, relaxed, and Steve was expecting him to be ripping his clothes off, and Steve would kill for a little bit of that now because it was hard enough to admit that he wants to have sex but now Tony's just drawing this out for kicks.

Except this one's not so hard to say. He blushes harder and whispers, "I want you," and it's so liberating and arousing to admit it.

Tony kisses him, hard and ardent, kisses him like he's going to disappear if he doesn't, and Steve tangles his hand in Tony's hair and sucks on his bottom lip and tries to lose himself in kissing.

He knows he shouldn't be nervous because technically they've done this before. But his heart's beating too fast, his breaths coming a little too ragged, as he slides his hands under Tony's waistband.

And then the pants are off and Tony's hands move to Steve's belt. "Your turn."

Steve shakes his head, he's not ready for that, and Tony raises an eyebrow. And that look of surprise increases as Steve settles his hands on Tony's boxers, hesitantly pulling them off.

"But you are going to take your pants off eventually," Tony says. "Right?"

Steve nods, preoccupied by the sight of Tony stretched out beneath him, thighs sparsely peppered with dark hair, hard cock resting against his stomach. He's seen him naked before, that one night, but it's even better now.

He doesn't realize he's staring until Tony clears his throat. "Don't tell me. You wish I'd waxed my balls first."

"No," Steve says, trying not to wonder if that's a thing people do now. "No, you're perfect."

"Well, that's a gross overstatement."

Steve smiles, bending over to kiss Tony's stomach, so very aware that his face is inches from Tony's cock, so very aware that if he moved just a little bit, his lips could close around him.

He doesn't do that, though. He travels away from it instead, licking the smooth skin at the base on Tony's oblique, and then running his teeth lightly along his hip.

Tony clears his throat pointedly. "Little to the right, big hard cock, can't miss it. Just, you know, don't use the teeth."

Steve turns slowly to give him a reproachful look.

"Or I guess this works too," Tony says, smirking, closing his eyes as Steve runs a hand along the inside of his thigh. "Uh, but fair warning, at this pace you have maybe five minutes before I jump you."

"I'll hold you to that," Steve says, because he wouldn't mind that. He's not sure how he took control of this in this situation, and he's not exactly sure what to do next. And he's glad Tony's eyes are closed, because it takes away some of the pressure he's been putting on himself to get this right.

He kisses the tip of Tony's dick, wrapping a hand around it for support, and this earns him a positive sound so he does it again, and after that he thinks he should put it in his mouth, but there's another part of him that thinks that's not right.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he admits, because Tony told him that was okay, to admit that.

Tony just groans, and then he sits up, running a hand through his hair. "I knew this was too good to be true."

Steve bites his lip and blinks and tries not to show how much that hurts, and Tony rolls his eyes. "Teasing. Lighten up. I'll show you."

His hand is firm on Steve's shoulder as he pushes him back onto his elbows, the other already unbuttoning his trousers.

He makes a noise, and it's not necessarily a bad noise but Tony takes it as one anyway. "The pants have to come off at some point," he says, tugging them down Steve's hips. And he closes his eyes and nods, because he doesn't trust himself to form the proper words.

Tony licks him first, a long stripe up the underside before his lips close around Steve's dick and the feeling is unbelievable, it doesn't even compare to Tony's hand. And he stops just to tell Steve how good he tastes, then looks him right in the eye as he swallows the entire length and Steve's surprised he doesn't explode right then.

It's still fast, it's way too fast, and he feels like he needs to say something but there's literally just that quick realization that he's about to ejaculate, and then he does. He's expecting Tony to jerk back or do, well, something, but Tony just swallows like that's the most natural thing, glances up at him again as he does it, and Steve has to bite his lip to stop from whimpering.

"Warn me next time," Tony says, patting Steve on the hip, tongue flicking across his lip for the drops that he didn't get, and Steve blushes, and nods.

Tony kisses his way up Steve's torso, slides a hand across his chest, as Steve tries to catch his breath and tries not to feel so embarrassed for having lost control like that so quickly.

But Tony just smiles and nuzzles against him like it's no big deal. "So what's your refractory period like?"

"Pardon?"

"How long till you can get it up again?"

"Oh," Steve says, glancing down, noticing how sad and small he looks flaccid and hoping Tony hasn't. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No. How would I know?"

Tony squints at him. "I'm just talking... like, rough estimation, here."

"I've only had sex one other time, and you were there."

Tony smirks and kisses him between the eyes. "Shh, no need to get upset. But, well, you have masturbated, right?"

Steve shrugs. "A few times."

Tony stares at him. "A... few... times."

Steve's face gets hot. "Well, more than that," he says, swallowing. "When I was younger – but I really try not to."

He's expecting judgement, but Tony just closes his eyes and moans. "Ungh, fuck, that's hot," he says, guiding Steve to stroke him with one hand. "You're so fucking pure, aren't you."

Steve bites his lip because none of this is making him feel pure, it's making him feel unbelievably dirty and wrong, but in a good way. And he can't believe how twistedly good Tony's lips feel on his neck, and then Tony's warm breath is tickling against Steve's ear as he says, "come on baby, let's see what that virgin mouth can do."

He feels that in his groin, and Tony makes a little "hmm" as Steve gets hard again.

And then he looks pointedly at his own dick and Steve gets the gist.

He's nervous again as he holds Tony's dick but he tells himself that it's nothing different than licking him anywhere else, and the soft moan that escapes from Tony's lips as he licks from base to tip is the only encouragement he needs to take him into his mouth. He tastes better than he's expecting, and he tries to copy Tony by taking him all of the way into his mouth, but he can only manage a few inches. So he moves up and down, uses his tongue along the side, and each time he goes down he tries to get further into his mouth. He doesn't know how Tony did that, he must have taken him all the way down his throat, and Steve tries that but it doesn't work.

He focuses on the way Tony's moaning, on the words escaping from his mouth, tries to feel as sexy as Tony's telling him he is, and then he realizes that he hasn't breathed in what seems like ages, and he panics, a bit, and comes up for air.

Tony looks at him through heavy-lidded eyes and Steve's just intending to catch his breath and start again, but Tony catches his wrists instead. "Lie down."

Steve does so and Tony crawls over him, hovering, not touching, and then he lowers his just head to kiss him.

"Tell me what you want," Tony says, breath soft on Steve's lips.

"I want you to ejaculate in my mouth," Steve says, blushing uncontrollably as he does, wondering what happened to his self control, wondering why he let himself blurt out such a private fantasy.

"Come," Tony says, seemingly unfazed by Steve's declaration. "You want me to come in your mouth."

"Mhmm."

"I will, baby, but it'll be awhile before we get to that." Tony kisses him hungrily, body still suspended inches above Steve's, denying him any touch but for his lips. "You're so beautiful with my cock in your mouth."

Steve makes another one of those involuntary sounds, the ones he can't help making when something makes him feel dirty and good at the same time.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you," Tony whispers. "Do you want my mouth on your cock? Hmm? Or do you want me to do this?"

He lowers his hips, and any sort of self control that Steve's been deluding himself into thinking he has disappears.

"This," he gasps, his eyes closing in pleasure as Tony moves in just the right way. He feels so unbelievably close to him, and he's glad he waited, and he's glad he stopped waiting, because now that they're actually doing this he can't imagine what the point is of waiting.

Tony kisses him on the neck and on the chest and teases his nipples, and Steve runs his hands along Tony's back and tries not to be overwhelmed by it all, tries to focus on Tony, on how perfect Tony feels against him, on how Tony feels against him, on how it feels, he can't focus on anything but how good it feels.

Tony's feet hook under Steve's knees, strong legs wrapping around his, pulling their bodies closer together.

"Talk to me," he whispers. "Tell me what you're thinking."

That's not an invitation to say he loves him. Steve knows that. He knows that and so he bites his lip to keep it from spilling out.

"Does it feel good?"

"Y – yeah." He's surprised by how it's hard to get the words out, how he feels the need to take harsh gasping breaths instead. "Ngnh... nnh, Tony – I –"

"Are you close?"

He doesn't know but he assumes he is, he assumes based on before that he is so he nods, breathing heavily, half of him hoping Tony will stop so that he lasts, half of him hoping he'll keep going anyway because it feels good, so good.

"You wanna try something new?"

Steve nods because there's really no other answer to that question. And everything is new, but it turns out that what Tony has in mind isn't as new as he's expecting. They just lie on their sides, heads on opposite sides, and Steve sucks him again, using his hands this time, trying again to let Tony into his throat and failing. He remembers to breathe, this time, but he hardly wants to, he just wants to make Tony feel good.

Finally Tony's mouth is on him again, and it feels so good, even better than before. He wants Tony to finish first, but he knows that's a losing battle, because Tony can do things with his mouth that Steve's not even sure he can understand.

When he comes it's overwhelming and for a second there he's afraid he might cry. He's not sure why he feels that way, because everything is good, everything is feeling good, but there's this brief unmanageable swell of emotion and then that passes, and he just feels good again.

Tony comes not too long after, and Steve's proud of himself for that, proud of the way that Tony's fist tightens in his hair and and he groans, "oh, fuck, Steve, I'm gonna cum," because he'd worried that he wouldn't be good enough.

He swallows, and It's not as good as his dreams, because in his dream there's no taste and he doesn't choke a little bit and worry about not getting all of it, but he's glad he does it anyway. In real life it feels just as intimate as he was hoping, just as special and private, makes him feel so close to Tony, like there was some barrier between them and now it's completely gone.

He wants to hold Tony close and tell him how much he loves him. He thinks it's time. But another part of him is terrified that if he does that before Tony's ready, he'll scare him away.

"How was that?"

"I –" Steve pauses, tries to find the words. "I didn't know it would be so so... good."

And Tony smiles. "Just you wait, I'm really gonna blow your mind," he says, snuggling up against him.

And Steve smiles and kisses his hair and decides that his feelings can wait too.


	8. Chapter 8

They have sex twice on Sunday and then again Tuesday, and again Wednesday, and by Thursday he's afraid that if they keep doing it all the time it'll stop being special, but he still drags Tony out of his lab in the early afternoon so that he can 'practice' giving him a blowjob.

And by drags, what he means is he shows up and raises his eyebrows and Tony divests himself of his clothing, so he imagines it's not too much of an interruption.

It makes him feel a little bit immoral, and very guilty, and every time he promises himself that he'll at least wait longer before doing it again. But when he's with Tony he forgets all of the objections.

He reminds himself that it's wrong, not just that he's having sex but that he's doing it with Tony, that they're both men and that's not what sex was intended for. And that thought makes him hate himself even more, but it's still not enough to make him want to stop.

At least if he's going to hell for this Tony'll be there too. In fact, he hopes he is going to hell for this, because that's the only way they'll wind up together in the afterlife.

The sex itself is exhilarating and a little bit terrifying at the same time. He loves the way it feels, of course, the physical and emotional sensations that are stronger and better than he'd imagined could exist. But he loves the way it makes him feel when he's not doing it more, the way that he doesn't have to worry about holding Tony too close, or about an innocent touch turning into something he's not willing to do, so they can touch, innocently, as much as they want to.

He loves the innocent touching, the little moments where his hands just happen to fall on Tony's hips, or their shoulders brush together then stay that way, like they're just a part of each other now. And he loves the way that it turns into something not so innocent, he's just not the one to push it in that direction. That's a level of culpability, of acknowledgement of what they're doing, that he's not ready for.

On that first Sunday he comes in Tony's mouth without saying anything, and sure, it's only the second time Tony's ever given him a blowjob, but still it's his fault, it's entirely his fault because he knows it's about to happen and the words won't form anyway.

Tony takes it in stride but he brings it up when they're cuddling, when he's almost asleep, runs a hand through Steve's hair and says, "I wasn't kidding about warning me."

Steve nods.

"Can you... not tell?"

Steve blushes. "I can tell," he says, closing his eyes. "I'll say something next time."

Tony curls up against him, laying an arm across his chest, sleepily pressing his face against Steve's neck. And Steve thinks that's the end of it, but it's not.

"You're not comfortable with sex, are you?"

"I like it."

"That's not what I asked."

Steve shrugs. It doesn't matter.

Tony sits up and yawns, looks him up and down and runs a hand along his back. "I want you to masturbate for me."

Steve swallows, feeling the sudden need for a blanket, or a pillow, or anything to cover him. "Pardon?"

"I want you to get yourself off while I watch."

He exhales like the air has been punched out of him, and he'd be lying to say that the thought doesn't arouse him, but it scares him too. And he thinks about it, curls up a bit so he's not on display in case his body decides to betray the undercurrent of want that's running through him. "I'd rather not."

Tony smirks. "Didn't think so."

And Steve squirms. "I'll do it."

"Why?"

"Because you want me to."

"Oops, nice try, wrong answer."

"Then why'd you ask me?"

Tony smirks. "Because I want you to."

Steve sighs. "Quit playing games."

"I want you to want to."

"Well, I don't," he says, grasping the sheet in his fist and wondering why he says that so forcefully when it's not even completely true.

Tony puts his hand on Steve's hip. "What if I give you a handjob?"

Steve swallows. "Okay."

"So why's it okay if I do it?"

"It's not."

"No." Tony sits up again, bouncing on the bed a bit, and slaps Steve playfully on the butt. "No, wrong answer. Come on, I'm trying to make a point here and you're completely not helping."

Steve stretches for the blanket and tugs it across himself. "Then make it."

Tony frowns. "What's wrong? Is it that I just said I'd give you a handjob and I haven't yet? Because I'll get to it."

"Everything's fine," Steve says, pulling the blanket a little tighter around himself. "I'm just tired."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Right."

"Get to the point."

"I made it already."

"Oh." He pulls Tony against him, holds him tightly so he can't get back up. "Great point."

Tony sighs against his shoulder. "Really, this is a conversation we need to have."

"Not right now."

"You know you're perfect and sexy and don't have anything to be ashamed about, right?"

Steve yawns. "Okay."

"And there's nothing wrong with having lots of great sex with me, all of the time?"

"I'm sleeping."

Tony sighs again and wrestles the blanket over himself, sliding his knee between Steve's. "We're talking later."

But they don't. They have sex again when they wake up, and Steve makes extra effort to seem like he's enjoying himself – which he is – and Tony seems satisfied.

So Steve decides that he just needs to practice.

After Thursday afternoon's encore performance Tony suggests that he blow off the rest of work so that they can go out to a proper dinner, and Steve has to decline because he has plans.

Tony raises an eyebrow. "You have plans?"

Steve nods.

"Wait, no, let's give this proper weight. You. Have plans. With other people?"

Steve shrugs. "I'm going out to dinner."

"With whom?"

"Theresa. She's a nurse."

"Oh." Tony raises an eyebrow. "Like, a motherly, doting kind of nurse?"

"I don't know. She's friendly."

"But she's unattractive."

"No."

"Older than you?"

Steve's not sure. "Maybe?"

"So," Tony says, on the exhale. "Like a date?"

"No."

"It's okay, it can be a date."

"It's not." He's not even sure why he's going. But he's never had a female friend before, and if the 30s and 40s taught him that men were for friendship and women were for relationships, well, maybe the 21st century can be the opposite.

"We're not exclusive."

Steve sighs. "It's not a date."

"Okay."

He wants to change his answer to that statement as soon as he realizes what Tony means by not exclusive. But the phone rings, and when it's over Tony looks over at him and rolls his eyes. "Important meeting, Pepper's pissed. I gotta go."

"We're not exclusive?"

Tony doesn't hear that or he doesn't acknowledge it. "I'm going to LA this weekend. Wanna come with?"

He does. "No thank you."

Tony shrugs. "Have fun on your date."

"It's not a date."

******  
It's not a date. He asks right away, and she seems shocked, get flustered enough that he wishes he'd gone with his gut and not even gone. He doesn't need other people, he has Tony and Peggy. Even if they're "not exclusive."

"Not that I wouldn't date you," she adds, after another furtive glance at his chest. "But I, um, I have a boyfriend."

"Me too." And then he regrets being so candid. That's not something he should be admitting.

Theresa smiles. "Oh. And she thought it was a date?"

Steve nods, so very glad that it's her assumption. "Yes."

"Have you seen I Love You, Man?"

"Don't think so."

"Oh, right," she says, blushing. "I don't know why I asked. I just keep forgetting that you're from the past."

Steve offers a thin smile.

"Well, anyway, it's about this guy who's trying to make a new friend, and everyone's always telling him only to go out to lunch with the guys, never dinner, because dinner means it's a date. And then he goes out to dinner with a guy his mom thinks he should be friends with, and it turns out the other guy thinks it's a date."

Steve smiles broader, wonders if it's too much information, but - "I've done that."

Theresa raises an eyebrow. "Done what?"

"Went to dinner with a guy thinking we were there as friends."

"Oh." Her eyes get bigger, as does her smile. "Oh, wow. What happened?"

"Figured out it was a date. We're still friends."

"How'd you figure out it was a date?"

Steve shrugs. This is too far. This is way too far. He kind of wants to tell her. "When he kissed me."

She laughs, almost spilling her water, and then she covers her mouth and tries to stop laughing. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing at you," she says, continuing to laugh at him nonetheless. "I oh, that's great, sorry, just a second."

He can't help smiling, even though there's a part of his brain that has to keep reminding him that it's only funny because he's lying.

"So, well, now I understand why you'd want to check," she says, catching her breath. "Or, why your girlfriend might want to check."

Steve shrugs.

"Did it bother you? When he kissed you?"

"No."

"Oh. That's really cool! I mean, because you're from the 1940s, right? But you're cool with gay people?"

Steve shrugs. There's a part of him that wants to end this line of questioning before he gives anything away. And there's another part of him that really likes that he can talk about it. "I don't think there's anything wrong with it."

Theresa smiles. "That's really great. I mean, because everyone thought it was a mental disorder back then, right?"

"Yeah." Steve's not as interested in that conversation.

"What's the biggest change?"

"Pardon?"

"From then to now."

The rest of the night goes that way, she spends it quizzing him about his past, but she doesn't ask about him being Captain America and so he doesn't mind it so much. She asks about the boring stuff, the everyday stuff. And when he points out how mundane everything she's asking about is, she smiles, and apologizes, explains that she "minored in history," whatever that means.

It's actually a fun dinner. He gets to talk about things he thought no one would want to hear about, things that Peggy already knows and that would bore Tony to death. He's glad he went.

He calls Tony when he gets home, but there's no answer. It's late though. He shouldn't expect one.

Still, he can't help imagining Tony out on a date with someone else. And, he knows how Tony's dates end.

They don't even talk until Saturday, and it's a short conversation.

"I miss you," he says, once they've run out of mundane things to talk about. He does. At very least they usually talk most nights.

Tony just makes a small noise of agreement. "Should've come with me."

Steve sighs. "Next time."

"Mhmm."

And then Tony has to go.

Sunday he's at the nursing home, spending the day with Peggy. Theresa's there in the afternoon and the three of them play bridge, out in the common room, where Steve hasn't spent very much time. The flurry of activity is nice, and having more than one friend there is nice too.

He even opts to stay for dinner, although the sandwich he has with him hardly makes for a dinner. But it's the being with people that he's trying to make himself do again.

The television in the dining room is showing the Academy Awards red carpet, and Steve watches it idly throughout the meal, feeling completely out of touch. He doesn't recognize anyone, and they really don't even look like movie stars. It's a stark reminder that he's not from this era. And then there's a familiar face.

He blinks, rubs his eyes, but there's Tony, still looking unbelievably perfect in a tuxedo, Pepper Potts hanging off his arm.

"And I've been been invited here to present an award, of course you're going to have the man who singlehandedly saved New York City present an award, do you get what I'm saying?"

Pepper smiles demurely and puts a hand over Tony's. "I think what Tony is saying is that this is a big honor, and he hasn't quite figured out how to graciously accept it."

"That is not what I'm saying," Tony says, wandering off nonetheless, his hand on the small of Pepper's back. She's wearing a dress that's all crossed in the back so that he's touching her bare skin, and he leans in at something she says, and laughs, and they look so very much in love. Then the camera cuts away.

Steve thinks he's going to be sick.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he says, as one of the nurses comes by. He doesn't know her name, he doesn't know any of their names. "What we're watching, it's happening right now?"

She glances at the television. "Well, it's live..."

Peggy looks up from her food. "You could have asked me that."

Steve smiles, pretending he's okay. He's gotten good at that. "Thank you."

He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying. No wonder Tony said they're not exclusive. He wonders if he's Tony's dirty little secret, or if Pepper knows, if they laugh about it when he's not around.

He knows that he's overreacting. Clearly Tony doesn't think his relationship with Pepper is a secret. But then, he wouldn't expect Steve to watch the Oscars.

He spends the rest of the meal in a little bit of a downward spiral, glad he hasn't told Tony anything he would regret, glad Tony doesn't know how he's broken. His virginity, that's all that Tony has that Steve really wishes he could take back, but even that he didn't give up on purpose so it's not the same, really. It's not like he thought Tony would love and cherish him and then made an adult decision to sleep with him, he'd just done it. Because it felt right at the time.

Because he'd ignored every opportunity he'd ever had saving himself so long for someone who he never even got a chance to be with. And after that it hadn't seemed worth saving anymore.

But that still didn't make it a good decision.

He's glad to get out of that room, to get away from the people. And he's about to head home alone and think about what he's done when he gets a different idea. "Mind I stay to watch the Oscars?"

Peggy wrinkles her nose at him. "Have you even seen a movie this year?"

"Tony's there." He rubs the back of his neck self consciously. "I want to see if they'll show him."

He wants to see if they'll show him with Pepper. He knows it's a public event, and that he's not going to see enough to satisfy his curiosity, but he still wants to know. He wants to know that he's not overreacting. Because he could be. There's a good chance that he is, because in the last couple days Tony has been distant and hasn't initiated contact once, and plus they're not exclusive. Steve could just be seeing all of that and erroneously thinking that means Tony's dating Pepper.

He doesn't tell Peggy this, though. It's bad enough that she even knows about Tony. She doesn't need to know that Steve's been wasting all of his time thinking about Tony, and now he's going to waste all of his time worrying about what he thought he had with Tony.

She smiles, and lets him stay, lets him lay on the bed and strokes his hair as he watches the mind-numbingly dull ceremony. He doesn't see Pepper once. He sees Tony present some award, and he tries to remind himself not to love him but it's hard.

Peggy tells Steve she loves him, when he leaves. She always does. It's just how they say goodbye, a perfunctory but also genuinely caring statement, as though she were his grandmother. It makes him feel like he matters to someone, makes him feel good, on the days that he feels good.

On the days that he doesn't, when he's at his lowest, his most damaged, that's when he hears it, and he says it, and all he can think is that at least if she dies before he returns he'll never have to regret his last words to her.

Today's not his lowest day in the normal sense. It's not like that. It's worse, in some ways. He hears her words and he imagines them stronger, higher pitched, the way she used to sound. He imagines a life where they'd gotten to be together when she was young and still wanted him.

A life where it's him and Peggy, and Bucky's still there, and everything is great. A life where he didn't have to sacrifice all of his happiness for a little town in New York.

He wishes he'd never created the Howling Commandos, never ruined his life, and ended Bucky's, for a country that didn't need soldiers, not when they were willing to drop a fucking atomic bomb on innocent civilians. He wishes he hadn't fought for this future because he doesn't exactly approve of it.

He'd thought Tony was worth it all but even at his absolute best Tony's not even close.

And he knows he'd do it all over again, do it for Brooklyn if not for America, and the future, even if he knew how that'd turn out. But god damn it, he wishes he didn't have to.


	9. Chapter 9

On Monday, he misses two calls from Tony and then gets a text in the evening that says, "I've been home for three whole hours and you're still not naked in my bed. Something wrong?"

He hasn't dealt with anything head on in so long. Since New York, really. And he remembers how good that felt, but it's still hard to motivate himself to take charge anymore. Something's broken in him now. He wakes up every morning feeling guilty and hopeless.

But not today. Today he's angry too. And it's not even justified anger but he wants to nurse it anyway because it's the closest he's felt to being himself in quite a while. Today he's going to go over there and demand an explanation, an actual, honest explanation, because he deserves that much at least. Just because he never thought to ask if Tony was seeing someone else doesn't mean he didn't have a right to know.

But first he has the stupid graphic design class that he's stupidly going to attend, even though he's going to make a fool of himself. But, that's fine. He's good under pressure, after all. And he's punched Hitler over 200 times. If the computer doesn't do what he wants, he'll just punch it and pretend it broke. That's a good strategy. He's good at strategies.

He doesn't answer the text.

He does show up twenty minutes early, in the hopes that he'll be able to explain his ineptitude to the instructor, and finds himself walking in on a previous class. So he waits in the hallway, sketching broken things.

He keeps coming back to the question of why Tony didn't tell him he was going to the Academy Awards. Because he can explain away the rest of it, if he tries, but that's the part that doesn't make sense. Or rather, it makes a lot of sense. He'd never expect Steve to be watching.

That's what he keeps coming back to. That's what convinces him Tony has to be hiding something.

He's glad for the distraction when the class starts. There's nothing to be gained by focusing on suspicions, and he knows that, and he can't seem to stop it anyway.

He walks up to the instructor, introduces himself with a handshake and explains how little he knows, how he still hasn't mastered a single programming language. And the instructor looks at him, confused, and then blinks.

"We're not coding in this class," he says. "You'll be fine."

"Then -" Steve stops, realizing that it's probably not a good idea to end that sentence with 'how am I supposed to do anything.' He's sure he can figure it out, and if not they'll just have to show him. "Thank you."

He can feel everyone's eyes on him as he slowly takes a seat. This is why he wanted to come in early.

He doesn't want to draw more attention to himself, but that doesn't excuse good manners. So he turns to the guy next to him, a kid with dark hair, skinny like Steve used to be, and introduces himself.

"Um, Daniel," the kid says, not meeting Steve's gaze, hesitantly shaking his hand. "Uh, nice to meet you."

He swallows, feeling completely out of place, and turns to the computer instead, determined to figure out how to use it if it kills him.

It doesn't. It's actually very simple. Tony's clearly been lying to him about how to use a computer. Of course, he's clearly been lying to him about other things too.

Even the program they're using is amazingly easy to figure out after weeks and weeks of trying to navigate Tony's system. He just clicks on things, and they work. There are even words that pop up when he lets the mouse sit on one of the pictures along the side, so he doesn't have to remember what they're called.

There's not much instruction, however; they're just introduced to a few of the functions and then told to "explore," his notebook laying next to him with three lonely lines of notes on it.

So he plays around, sees what everything can do. It's so easy to fill things with color, but there's no shading. He assumes they'll teach him how to do that. He adds elements, at random, and then starts over when he doesn't like what they do, because you can't exactly erase some of these things.

He does that four times before Daniel tentatively interrupts. "You can, uh, undo things, you know," he says, raising one hand to point at the screen.

"Oh," Steve says, and then, because he feels the need to cover up his lack of knowledge. "Thank you. I've never used this program before."

"Oh, uh, well, you're pretty good at it, then."

Steve gives him a small smile and a thank you, but he's sure Daniel's just being polite. Particularly when he can still feel the eyes on him. He even catches a few people staring at him throughout the class, like they're wondering why he's there.

He leaves as soon as he can, planning not to come back, and a girl stops him on his way out.

"Hey, uh, some of us are going out for drinks," she says, tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. "Do you want to come?"

He thinks about it for a split second, and then a second longer. It'd be so easy, to just go out for drinks with people his own age. Forget about Tony for a second. But he's afraid that if he forgets about Tony for even a second, Tony will forget about him forever.

So he declines, politely, entreats her to invite him next time and apologizes for having other plans. And then he calls Tony to let him know he'll be over, keeping his tone neutral and his words short.

He arrives at the tower an hour later, after agreeing to give Tony time to shower and "freshen up" and then meet him in the spacious, neglected office adjacent to his bedroom. He's ready to get this over with.

He walks in, finds Tony sitting in his ridiculously large office chair. And he takes a seat across from him, his own chair thin and without armrests.

"O-kay," Tony says, raising an eyebrow. "So, you're mad at me. But I'm fine with that if you are, I'm a big fan of angry sex."

"Is everything about sex to you?"

"Of course not," Tony says, mouth quirking into a little self-satisfied smile. "Some things are jokes."

Steve ignores that. "I saw you," he says. "On TV."

"Oh." Tony grimaces. "Well, look, I didn't really mean anything I said. It's a – well, it's kind of a persona."

"I don't care."

"But it is. It is strongly to my advantage to have people underestimate me."

"Tony –"

"I mean, if you were the only publically recognized superhero, don't you think it would be a good idea for your enemies to think you're a little bit of a self-centered idiot?"

"Tony," Steve says, a little louder, more forcefully, and Tony finally shuts up. "I don't care what you said. I think you were unnecessarily dismissive of everything that Thor, and Bruce, and Clint and Natasha did, but you're still the one who went on a suicide mission to protect New York from an atomic bomb so I really don't care if you want to act like it was all you."

Tony blinks. "Oh. Okay."

Then he cocks his head. "So then what's the problem?"

"What's your relationship with Pepper?"

Tony smiles. "Why, ya jealous?"

Steve doesn't dignify that with a response.

Tony shrugs. "We're exes, technically, I guess."

"Technically?"

"Well, I mean, we're definitely exes. But not the type where you have to be worried that something'll happen. I'm really not interested in women the same way."

"The same way?"

"You know, romance, whatever. Sexually, sure, but I'm actually much better at being monogamous than anyone has ever given me credit for."

Steve looks at him, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, but everything he's saying is ridiculous.

"And I mean, I'm not trying to say I didn't like dating her, because at least we're friends now, but I also kinda feel bad about it, and I'd never do that again."

Steve narrows his eyes. "Why would you feel bad about it?"

Tony sighs. "I uh, knew I was leading her on, but I just kept hoping it'd work out anyway. But, that's a conversation for another time, okay? In answer to your first question, there's nothing between us."

Steve exhales. "That's a good cover story."

"Better as the truth, though," Tony says, narrowing his eyes. "Which it is. What's with the sudden paranoia?"

"Don't act like I'm not justified in being suspicious."

"Oh, the suspicion doesn't bother me." He raises an eyebrow. "Assuming that I'm lying, however, kinda does."

Steve shrugs. He wants to believe him, he really does, but if Tony's lying to his face it's better to get out right now. "You didn't tell me you'd be going to the Academy Awards."

"You didn't ask."

Steve glares. "I shouldn't need to ask about something like that, especially if you're bringing someone else as your date. I don't care if we're not exclusive, that's just common decency."

Tony shrugs. "Look, I figured you'd think it was stupid. I'd have told you, if you'd decided to come with me."

"Now, that's the worst excuse I've ever heard."

Tony gives a little push on his desk, slides the chair over to Steve's side, so he can take his hand and smile condescendingly. "Look, I've enjoyed all of your little hissy fits, really, I have, you're adorable when you're mad. But at this point maybe you could, I don't know, just trust me a little instead of getting upset with me."

Steve sets his jaw and pulls his hand back. "You still should have told me about Pepper."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Should I just tell you about everyone I'm not dating or sleeping with? Is that what you want?"

"If that's the shorter list, yeah."

Tony laughs, a sharp, amused laugh. "Well, how many people are there in the world?"

"I don't know."

"Then let's just say I'm not dating whatever that number is, minus two people."

Steve exhales. "Who's the other person?"

"Me. I can't date myself."

"So then why'd you insist that we're not exclusive?"

"We're not."

"I want to be."

"Really?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Gee, I dunno, you're always getting mad and you won't have sex with me." Tony shrugs. "Thought maybe you were losing interest."

"I – but, we do have sex," he says, and as he finishes that sentence he has the sinking realization that Tony doesn't understand what that means to him.

"Okay, well, I mean, I guess that's sex, and that's great and all," he says, wrinkling his nose. "But I really just want you to rip my clothes off, hold me against the wall, and fuck me."

Steve tries not to let the shock register on his face.

Tony smirks. "We can work up to that. But I'd really like it if you took more initiative."

Steve swallows, feels like he should just take Tony's word for it, but decides not to. "I thought I was supposed to be the girl."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Are you trying to tell me that you're transsexual now?"

"What?"

"Never mind. Where'd you get that idea?"

"I thought you'd want to penetrate me."

"Yeah, no, I got that. And, for the record, I do. But where'd you get the idea that one of us has to be 'the girl'?"

Steve shrugs defensively. "I don't know. That's how relationships are."

Tony snorts. "Maybe straight relationships. Sometimes."

"Well, I don't know how relationships are supposed to go, okay? I've never been in one."

Tony shrugs. "You're just supposed to do what you want to. And, you know, tell me what you want."

"Okay."

Tony smiles. "So is that what's been up with you?"

Steve shrugs. Nothing's been up with him.

"Well, anyway we're both men, and I personally think that's great. There's no reason to fall into stereotypical roles. I mean, if you really want to –"

"I don't."

"Great. So, uh," Tony says, pausing, drumming his fingers on the table, a little smile playing at his lips. "Have you given any thought to fucking me?"

Steve blushes, because his brain's not the only part of his body that jumped at the idea. And he sighs, because Tony's not going to like his answer. "I don't want to."

Tony's face falls. "Bullshit."

Steve offers a small apologetic smile. "Okay, I do want to. But I'm not going to."

Tony stares at the wall, a strange expression on his face, and then he sighs heavily. "I really didn't want to do this," he says, running a hand through his hair. "But, are you completely sure that you're attracted to me?"

Steve laughs. Tony doesn't.

"I'm serious."

"Of course I'm attracted to you."

"Well, maybe you're not."

"I think I would know."

"It's fine if you're not into guys. I get it. Lots of people experiment. We can still be friends."

"You think I'm not... a queer, just because I don't want to-"

"It's not 'a queer,'" Tony says. "We say gay now. Or bi, if you're into women too."

"You think I'm not... a... bi?"

Tony smirks. "Just bi. Short for bisexual."

Steve sighs. Just like Tony to distract him with something that's completely irrelevant. "Well, I am attracted to you."

Tony squints at him. "Sexually?"

"Yes."

"But are you absolutely, 100% sure? Because you've been making me feel a lot more resistible than I'm used to."

"I have self-control."

"Then stop having that."

He says it lightly but Steve can tell he's still a little doubtful. So he does the only thing he can think of to prove it, which is to take Tony's hand and place it on his lap.

Tony fixes him with a surprised look and Steve's ears get warm. "Just from..."

"Thinking about... you know."

Tony smirks. "Fucking me."

Steve bites the inside of his cheek and nods.

"Well, this really only proves that you get erections too easily," Tony says, still smirking. "And you really don't want to fuck me?"

Steve nods, trying not to lean into Tony's hand as it kneads against his khakis.

"Why not?"

"It's too soon."

Tony rolls his eyes. "You were gonna let me fuck you on the first date."

Steve blushes furiously, pushes Tony's hand away because there's something about the casual way Tony says it that's making his dick throb. "I wasn't."

Tony smirks. "Yeah you were. And you wanted to. Admit it."

"I'm not a –" he trails off, still blushing, wondering how he can finish that sentence without insulting him.

"Person?"

Steve shrugs. "I just wanna do things right."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Well, you've got me, and you've got an erection. That's pretty much how you do it."

"I don't expect you to understand."

Tony raises his eyebrows. "Right. Because this doesn't concern me at all."

"It's still my decision."

Tony rolls his eyes again, and then he stands up, making full use of the two steps it takes him to cross the space between them, making Steve doubt his resolve with every movement. "Well," he says, as he helps himself to Steve's lap. "I didn't invite you over here to talk about what you won't do."

He wraps his arms loosely around Steve's neck, scoots forward so his crotch is pressed right against Steve's, and Steve exhales a little too involuntarily.

"It's all up to you tonight," Tony says, rocking slowly against him. "I'm not gonna do a single thing you don't tell me to."

Steve swallows, aching with need and trying so hard to forestall it. "What if I do something you don't like?"

Tony rolls his eyes and rests his forehead on Steve's. "Nice try, cupcake."

"Oh, and don't worry about holding back," he adds. "I don't mind being roughed up a bit."

On childish principle he wants to turn him down, make Tony work for his affection because heso obviously takes it for granted, but there's this strong, deep-seated need that won't let him do that. This harsh, insistent need that won't let him do anything but hold Tony against him and arch his back searching for more contact.

And he runs his hands through Tony's hair and kisses him, sucking hard against... unresponsive lips.

Tony grins. "I said I wasn't going to do anything you didn't tell me to."

Steve glares. "Kiss me."

He slides his hands under Tony's shirt, running them along his back before dropping them down to pull Tony's hips against him. There's not enough leverage, on the chair, he can't get enough of him.

He stands up, but instead of dropping his feet to the floor Tony wraps them around Steve's waist. So he does the only reasonable thing, he backs Tony against the wall and holds him there, kissing him harsh and aggressive, rubbing against him in short little thrusts, and Tony moans into his mouth.

"Fuck," he pants, pulling away and tightening a hand in Steve's hair. "Can we please reconsider your objections?"

"Did I say you could stop kissing me?"

And Tony grins. "God, I should have done this ages ago."

He carries Tony into the bedroom, drops him on the pillows, and strips as Tony watches, not trying to play it for sexual appeal the way that Tony would because he doesn't know how to do that. He's just taking his clothes off so they won't stand between them.

"Have you ever heard of a position called the Triple Lindy? I bet we could totally pull that off."

Steve rolls his eyes and crawls next to him, kissing Tony's neck as he pushes his shirt up, trying to focus on Tony because he's not going to last much longer.

Then he gets another idea, realizes that it doesn't matter because he'll just get hard again in a matter of minutes.

So he pulls Tony's shirt over his head and then he straddles him. Tony's hands slide up his legs, come to rest on his hips and Tony looks up at him with a little smirk, like he's daring him to protest.

Steve licks his lip and slides a hand through Tony's hair. He knows the words to say, he's just not sure if he'll be able to say that when he so firmly registers it as an insult.

But he tries anyway. "Suck."

Tony smirks, running his hands along Steve's thighs. "Suck what?"

"You know."

Tony smiles. "I want you say it."

"Or," he adds, looking up at Steve through his eyelashes, a coy little smile on his lips, "I suppose you could make me."

He follows the words with a little pressure on Steve's hips, nudging him forward, and Steve swallows.

Tony purses his lips, seductive but also clearly amused. "C'mon baby, what's it gonna be?"

Steve hesitates.

"For clarification, I'm inviting you to fuck my mouth, if you want to."

Steve nods.

"I want you to, if that helps your decision."

Steve nods.

Tony smiles. "I'll start you off, then," he says, and takes Steve into his mouth. And his hands press on Steve's hips, pulling him forward, and then press him back and Steve gets the picture but he still can't wrap his head around the idea of actually doing this.

It doesn't take long, however, for instinct to kick in. He finds his hips moving even without Tony's intervention. And he looks down, expects to feel bad about it but Tony's looking up at him like Steve is everything he's ever wanted, and it's enough to push him over the edge.

Steve rolls off of him, breathing heavily, and watches as Tony licks the last bit of semen from his lip. "A little timid, but it is your first time, so all things considered that was pretty great."

Steve swallows, caught in the post-orgasm haze of wrongness. "You actually like that? But isn't it..."

"Degrading? No."

"Really?"

"Do you think less of me now?"

"No."

"Great. Don't feel degraded at all. Now, one of us still has an erection and I'll give you three guesses as to whose job it is to fix that."

Steve smiles, knowing that if he just ignores it the feeling that he shouldn't be doing this will go away. It always does.

So he pulls Tony's pants off, lowering his face to his thighs, sucking on the sensitive skin there to make him squirm.

"Steve -"

He smiles, spreads Tony's legs so he can have better access, dragging his teeth across his inner thigh. Tony hates it, when he teases him like this, so he makes sure to do it every time.

"Um, while you're down there," Tony says, clearing his throat a little. "Wanna try something new? Ever heard of rimming?"

He hasn't, but Tony explains it, insistently, explains that it's completely safe and fun, and then pleads with him until Steve gives in. "I mean, it's basically just oral," Tony says. "Tons of people do it."

And Steve's hesitant, for a number of reasons, but once he buries his face between Tony's legs and slides his tongue across Tony's soft, pink hole, feels Tony moan and squirm underneath him, he finds himself suddenly okay with it. It's intoxicating, intimate and taboo and terribly arousing, and most importantly Tony loves it, keeps writhing and moaning and trying to force Steve's tongue deeper.

And then Tony asks for Steve's fingers and he has to draw the line there, has to finish Tony with a normal, safe blowjob and himself with his hand so that he won't be tempted to give in to something more.

As soon as they're done Tony straddles him, knees on either side of his stomach, and runs his hands along Steve's chest. "So why no penetration?"

"We're already moving too fast."

Tony rolls his eyes.

"I really care about you. I don't wanna mess this up."

Tony yawns. "If you really cared about me you'd put your penis in me."

"Well, now that you describe it that way."

Tony smirks. "I'm serious, popsicle. I like sex. I like you. I like to have sex with you. Don't give me that chivalry crap."

He has one of his dreams again. He knew they weren't gone, couldn't be, but he's been doing such a good job of making his life be about dating Tony now that he almost thought he'd been able to trick his subconscious into believing the past isn't still haunting him.

He wakes up in a cold sweat, gasping for air, and he sits bolt upright, not sure where he is. And Tony's supposed to be in the bed next to him, but he's not. He's glad for that, a little bit, because it means Tony doesn't have to know.

After a half hour, when Tony hasn't come back, he starts to worry. Sleep's out of the question anyway. At least when he's awake he has some control over his thoughts.

So he gets out of bed, but even with the lights on he can't find any of his clothes. He goes into the bathroom, makes sure Tony isn't in there, and then he tries to open the closet, because other people live here and he's not looking for Tony without some sort of clothes.

"Password?"

He jumps at Jarvis's voice, and then he sighs. "I need clothes."

"I'm not authorized to provide entrance without a password."

He sighs again. "Where's Tony?"

He finds Tony in his lab, bent over a workbench, wrapped in a shirt that's too big for him and awfully familiar. And even as Steve's stuck clutching a sheet around his torso, he can't help feeling a swell of some odd mixture of pride and ownership to see Tony wearing his shirt.

"You got my pants, too?"

Tony jumps, turning around with his fists raised. And he drops them when he sees Steve, gives him a crooked smile. "They're in the wash. Didn't think you'd be up. Also didn't think Jarvis would let you in without telling me. Need a little help tying your toga?"

"Pretty late to be working."

Tony shrugs. "Got an idea. Figured if I went back to sleep it'd disappear."

Steve nods, asks him what he's working on, and Tony gives him some vague answer and he wonders if he's not allowed to be down there. But Tony doesn't ask him to leave, and he points him to the couch and gives him a pad of paper and a drafting pencil. Steve feels quite a bit like he's a small child interrupting important work, but at the same time he's glad he doesn't have to go back to the huge empty room and try to sleep.

It's not too long before Tony comes to look over his shoulder. And Steve's glad that he's just sketching one of the armors, because there were a lot of other subjects playing in his mind.

Tony puts his chin on Steve's shoulder, squints at the paper, and says "do you ever draw me without the armor?"

Steve smiles. "I'm not drawing you."

"Yeah you are. I'm the armor. The armor is me. You can't prove I'm not in there."

Steve leans his head against Tony's. "Okay, I'm drawing you."

"You should draw me without the armor."

"Okay."

"You should draw me naked."

"Nude."

"Can you do it by memory? Or should I pose for you?"

Steve blushes.

"I'll pose for you."

Steve forgets to object as Tony's clothes come off. He imagines in real life this would feel taboo, but there's something decidedly dreamlike about being in Tony's lab in the middle of the night. Not to mention, he absolutely wants to draw Tony nude, wants an excuse to linger over every curve of his body.

Tony poses, next to and partially behind the armor that Steve's drawing. "How's this?"

"Perfect."

Tony grins. "I've modeled before," he says, flexing. "But you could probably tell."

Steve rolls his eyes and surveys him. He's posed somewhat conservatively, on a variation of how a normal life model might stand, but everything about him is sexual, somehow. Steve's not sure how that'll come through on paper. If he'll look as pornographic on the page as he does standing casually in his lab, holding a wrench and staring into the distance.

Tony seems to notice his train of thought. "Should I be erect?

Steve blushes. "No."

Neither of them should be erect, except Steve is going to be, already part of the way there just from the way that Tony's looking at him.

"Fine," Tony says, smirking. "I guess you're the expert."

Steve shushes him, looking down at his drawing to see if he needs to erase any of it. He likes the idea of having both of them in the picture, if only so he can insist that they're separate entities, to some extent.

He realizes a few minutes in that Tony's not going to be able to stand there long enough for him to include the kind of detail he wants to. So he stops focusing on perfection and just does a rough sketch, memorizing the details so he can add them in later.

He's right. Tony makes it a full fifteen minutes before declaring the whole thing boring. "Can you talk while you draw? I can talk, right?"

Steve nods. "I'll try to be fast."

"Great. Awesome. Wonderful. So, since we're exclusive, I assume we have to tell everyone, now, right?"

Steve looks up sharply. "No."

"Damn it. A nude drawing would have made a great coming out card."

Steve frowns. "Don't joke about that."

"Oh, come on, I didn't really mean it. But we should tell people we know."

"I'd rather not."

"Well," Tony says, clearly trying to look like he feels guilty. "I kinda told Pepper about you. As in specifically your name. And then confirmation that you were in fact that Steve Rogers. And then, you know, a lot of other things."

"That's okay." He can't hold that against Tony, not when he's been telling Peggy too much for so much longer. "I told Peggy."

He's prepared for the lack of comprehension that crosses Tony's face. He knows he shouldn't have waited this long, but, well, his feelings and relationship with Peggy are so complicated and fragile that he doesn't want to bring it up at all. Except if they're going steady now, Tony deserves to know.

"And Peggy is?"

This feels like the wrong thing to talk about while Tony's naked, while Steve has a decidedly secret erection, like he'd be sullying that relationship with this one. Dragging it through the same immorality.

Tony clears his throat. "Who's Peggy?"

He looks down, shades along the side of Tony's hip. "I knew her from before." He's afraid to tell him. He's afraid to admit that maybe he has something on the side, after all. He's not sure how that works, how loving more than one person is supposed to go. "During the war. I – well, I was in love with her. She's the only really important person from my life back then who's still alive now."

"Oh," Tony says, seeming to relax a bit. "Right. Peggy Carter?"

"Yeah. Do you know her?"

Tony shrugs, and then catches himself. "Sorry, I'll stop moving.. I've met her a couple of times. Only person I respected as a teenager, actually. I don't think I've seen her in maybe twenty years. How is she?"

Steve swallows. "I still love her."

Tony nods.

There's this long pause that's suddenly not as companionable as the previous silence was. And Steve looks at his sketch, cleans it up a bit, and decides that it's close enough to finished. "I'm done."

"Already?"

Steve shrugs. "It's a rough sketch."

Tony walks over, takes a seat next to him, sitting so close that he's almost on top of him, and props his head on Steve's shoulder to look at it. "You're very talented."

Steve shrugs.

"Can I keep it?"

"I'm not done."

Tony cocks his head. "You said you were."

Steve smiles. "I still have to put the clothes on."

The side of Tony's mouth curls up into a smile, and he kisses him, once, chastely. Which is too bad, because Steve has an erection and nothing to do with it.

"What about Happy, and Bruce? And the other Avengers? Can we tell them?"

Steve sighs. "I'd really prefer if we just kept this between us. And Pepper and Peggy, I guess."

"But I can tell Rhodey."

"I'd prefer if you didn't."

"Ehh, a little too late for that."

"How many people have you told?"

"Just the two, honest. And I mean, Rhodey's my best friend, you can't expect me to keep him in the dark about my life like that."

Steve shrugs. He'd be fine with them keeping everyone in the dark about their life. He knows it shouldn't matter, that it's completely biased of him, but he really doesn't like Rhodey knowing. He's in the military, and Steve doesn't care what their policies are like now, from everything he's read it's still not okay with people like him.

"Look, if it makes you feel any better, I told him I was interested in you months ago, so then I kinda had to tell him when you went out with me."

"You didn't have to tell him."

Tony smirks. "Well, I didn't know you'd want to be so secretive about it. Anyway, he thought you were too much of a fine, upstanding citizen to ever be attracted to me. So I had to prove him wrong."

Tony doesn't even seem to notice how awful that is. But Steve's spent enough time thinking he was wrong, he's not going to tolerate it anymore.

"And you're fine being friends with someone who feels that way about queers?"

Tony laughs, a sort of shocked laugh that nevertheless is amused at Steve's expense. "He wasn't talking about your sexuality," he says, patting Steve's head in a condescending sort of way. "He's not homophobic. He just meant that you're too good for me."

"Oh." He sighs, pulling more of the sheet over himself. "Well, he's not wrong."

Tony smirks, drawing his legs underneath himself, and leans against Steve. "You just keep telling yourself that."

Steve's not sure how long they lie there, but it's long enough to get rid of his erection, so he doesn't have to keep holding his arm like a barrier. And he looks down at Tony, who's playing with a bit of the sheet like he can't stay still to save his life, but doesn't want to get up. And it just seems like the right time.

"I love you," he says. His voice seems too loud after all of the silence, somehow.

Tony looks up at him and a slow, broad smile breaks across his face. And he snuggles even closer, resting his head between Steve's chin and his chest and running a hand along Steve's stomach.

But he doesn't say anything.


	10. Chapter 10

Steve wakes up to the sound of Tony's voice, the deep whisper that he puts on when he's talking dirty.

"Huh?" His voice is a little too loud, cracking with sleep, and he glances at the clock and wonders why Tony woke him up so early.

"Ugh, don't tell me I have to start over," Tony says, kissing Steve's neck, nipping playfully at his ear.

"I said I want you to _fuck me_," he says, drawing out the last two words so that they sound particularly obscene. He's curled up behind Steve, lips nearly touching his earlobe. "I want to feel your big, thick cock inside of me, stretching me open. Making me feel like I'm all yours."

Steve swallows.

Tony brushes Steve's hair off of his forehead and kisses him on the temple. "We can do it slow, if you want," he says. "But the way I always see it is you're holding me tight and pounding me so hard I can't even make out the words to tell you how much I love it."

He's shifting his hips just a bit as he talks, rubbing his cock against the small of Steve's back, and Steve wants to touch himself but he doesn't want to give Tony the satisfaction even more.

It's been weeks since Tony first brought it up, weeks of pleading and teasing, weeks in which he keeps thinking he should go to confession for his impure thoughts before remembering that he'd given up on confessing his sins a long time ago.

At this point it's like he's holding out just because he has some abstract idea that he should.

"I had a dream about you last night," Tony says, a hand traveling across Steve's chest.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhmm. You're not as much of a boy scout in my dreams."

"Whatever I did, I probably don't want to hear about it."

Tony laughs, softly, lips brushing against the sensitive parts of Steve's neck. "You held me down and fucked me," he says. "Hard and fast. Told me how good I felt. Told me I was yours and you could use me however you wanted, that you were never gonna let me go."

"Oh, hey," Steve says, smiling anyway. "Look at that, I didn't want to hear about it."

"I liked knowing you wanted me," Tony says. "That you couldn't keep your hands off of me. Made me feel good. Like you really cared about me."

He swallows. That's what always gets him, when Tony stops trying to convince him how good it'll feel and recognizes that it's more than that. That it has meaning, a whole lot of meaning. That's what makes him want to roll over and pin Tony to the sheets, to show him just how much he loves him.

Of course, since it's Tony, he's probably just figured out that he likes to hear that.

"Okay," Steve says. "Complete honesty. How much of that dream did you just make up?"

He can hear the smirk in Tony's voice. "Oh, definitely all of it."

"Thought so."

"Don't pretend like you're not enjoying this." Tony's hand slides down Steve's stomach.

Steve smiles. "That was there when I woke up."

"Even more reason to do something about it," Tony says, stroking him, gently licking his shoulder as he does.

Steve swallows, and Tony hasn't worn him down, not even a little bit, he could hold out forever against the wheedling, it's just that he's finding more and more that he really doesn't want to.

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"I'll... you know. Fuck you."

Tony sits up suddenly, bouncing a bit on the bed, looking at Steve with a wary grin on his face. All pretense of sleepiness or seduction is completely gone. "Really?"

"Mhmm."

"If you're joking we're through. I mean it. You don't play with my emotions like that."

Steve smiles, even as he realizes that Tony's kind of right. There's no backing down now. "I'm not joking. Right now?"

"No." From the sound of his groan it's like Tony's been physically hurt. "Right now I have work."

"It's a Saturday."

"It's a shitty job."

"When you get back," Steve says, reminding himself that he shouldn't be committing to this and not caring as much as he knows he should.

Tony practically hops out of bed. "I'm holding you to that."

Steve smiles, rolling over so that he can watch Tony get dressed. It's not quite the same as watching Tony get undressed, but the way he moves his hips to put on a tight pair of slacks – well, it's not helping with the little problem that Tony's started in Steve's underwear either.

"You could just unbutton them first."

"What, and rob you of the show?"

"You know, when I agreed to go out with you, I was under the impression that you never did any work."

Tony smirks. "When you agreed to go out with me, you were under the impression that you weren't agreeing to go out with me."

"You know what I mean. All the tabloids make you out to be some irresponsible playboy."

'It's not my fault 'alcoholic Tony Stark' makes a better headline than 'workaholic Tony Stark." He disappears, coming out of the closet with two ties. "Which do you like better?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. "You're right, the red one."

Steve stretches. "I just didn't think you would be the type of person to get me all hot and bothered and then disappear."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Okay," he says. "I have two minutes. Strip."

He wriggles out of his boxer-briefs, moaning a bit at the thought of Tony going down on him in a suit.

"False start. That's a disqualification."

"Stop wasting time."

And then Tony's lips are wrapped around him.

"Mm, yeah – oh, god," Steve moans, as Tony lets him into his throat and swallows. "Don't stop."

He does.

"Gotta go, honey," he says, smirking with a devilish amount of glee.

"I hate you."

"Get yourself off."

"You know I won't."

Tony smirks again. "Have a good day, sweetie," he says, kissing him quickly on the lips. "Wait here for me? I don't know when I'll be back."

"Yeah, sure."

"There's frozen food in the kitchen, or you can use one of my tabs to order something."

Steve smiles. "I think I can manage to feed myself."

He thinks about saying "I love you," but settles for "have a good day."

And then he rolls over, and thinks about sleeping, and finds that he can't.

He's told Tony he loves him a couple more times, after that first time, and every time Tony's smiled and acted like he's not expected to say it back. Maybe he's not.

Tony does call him baby, and honey, and any number of mostly food-related nicknames that seem to be generated on the spot. And that feels good. That feels great, actually, but it's not the same.

And Steve knows that he's not perfect either, because he can tell Tony he loves him, but every time he tries to call him 'baby' or 'honey' it feels wrong. Like that's not something he's supposed to be saying to a man.

Sleeping's a lot easier when Tony's there.

He rolls around on the bed, adjusts the pillows, and the bed is comfortable and soft and all of the things a bed is supposed to be. It's his thoughts that are the problem.

He feels like a millionaire, here. Or, he wishes he did. Because really, he just feels like a kept man.

He's been going out for drinks after graphic design classes, with Jason and Allie and Carlos and Trang and Adil and Monica, the kids in the class who have ID cards that say they're at least 21, even if they're not. He doesn't say anything, just keeps an eye on them to make sure they haven't had too much.

These kids, they've got all of these concerns he doesn't have, and then they have the one concern in common: money. Except while they're worrying about money they're ordering expensive drinks and appetizers and Steve's drinking complementary water and assuring them that he doesn't need to share their fries.

Just last week they'd talked about sugar daddies, laughing at how ridiculous but also how great it would be to just have some rich older man who could pay for school, and apartments, and clothes, and everything else that they wanted, all in exchange for a little bit of sex.

Steve had sat there and occasionally chimed in. Tried to convince himself that he was joking about it just as much as they were.

He knows that's not what he has with Tony, that Tony just happens to be rich and free with money and a little too excited about buying Steve shirts that are a size too small. It's not the same.

But damned if sometimes it doesn't feel a bit like it.

He gets up after a bit, pulls his boxers back on and heads into the adjacent office. When Tony gets up before Steve – which, so far, has happened every time he's stayed over – he leaves something open on the computer for him.

Today, it's mostly porn.

Steve closes all of that without looking at it. He's still a little bit old fashioned. But he reads the how-to page against his better judgement, turning progressively redder as he makes his way down the very matter-of-fact guide.

He drums his fingers on the table and thinks that if there's required reading, shouldn't that make people think twice about how natural it is?

And then he thinks that he's unnatural, and so is Tony, and if there's reading material on this then clearly they're not the only two people doing it.

After that he takes a cold shower.

He spends most of it thinking about Tony. About what he can do to make him happy. He wants to make him happy, he wants to write him a note or do something for him, but Tony already has plenty of people who do things for him and Steve's still not sure if it's a good thing to remind Tony that he loves him.

The only thing he knows is guaranteed to make Tony happy is to have sex with him.

And he does want to do that. He's not opposed to the idea of it, really. He just wishes that it weren't so important. He wishes that Tony didn't value the one thing Steve is least morally comfortable with more than he values anything else.

He finishes his cold shower, and then he heads down to Tony's gym, to work out. And then he takes another shower in Tony's ridiculously fancy bathroom.

And then he's not really sure what to do.

There are plenty of distractions, of course. It's just that he barely feels comfortable with using things like Tony's bed and Tony's shower, he's not about to go use his home theater or bowling alley.

So he lies down on the bed, and watches TV because he's hoping it'll numb him, that it'll fight off the feelings that come with being alone.

It doesn't.

He's been better at forgetting since Tony started becoming his life. He's had something to distract him. But that's when he's home, in his run down little apartment, and he can think of Tony as almost a fairy tale.

Here, in this ridiculous house, all he can feel is guilt.

Tony's not going to rescue him from anything because there's nothing to rescue him from. There's nothing in his life that isn't good, isn't beyond everything he's ever deserved. And the fact that he can't wake up every morning ecstatic about what he's been given makes him feel unbearably guilty.

If he could characterize the 21st century in a single word it'd be guilt.

Guilt about all of the people he's lost, and guilt about loving Tony and guilt about the things he does because he loves him and guilt about doing nothing with his life because he's too busy feeling guilty to get a job.

Bucky would expect him to do something with his life. He knows that. He knows Peggy expects it, he does his best to avoid any mention that he's not doing anything with his life around her. He knows Tony expects it, knows that's why he keeps pushing Steve to develop marketable art skills when Steve doesn't even pick up a pencil anymore unless Tony's handing it to him and expecting him to sketch something with it.

He knows Bucky would expect him to do something with his life. And that's the one that gets him, he can ignore Peggy's concern and Tony's urging but what he can't ignore is that he let Bucky down and he doesn't even have anything to show for it.

Bucky's the one he's not allowed to feel bad about.

He knows there's no one policing his feelings, but there's this expectation anyway. He can feel it. Because to everybody else he died seventy years ago. And Peggy was right, Steve shouldn't blame himself, but that doesn't stop him from doing it anyway. Bucky made a choice and he recognizes that and he understands that and he respects that but it wasn't even a choice until Steve put it on the table.

Tony's never even asked about him. To everyone else, Bucky's ancient history. And Steve acts like he agrees but then he closes his eyes and sees Bucky falling off of that train, sees him before that, sees his smile and thinks about how much Bucky never got to do.

He takes a hot shower, lets the water run over his face so he won't know whether he's crying or not.

The opulence finally gets to him around 11:30. He's sitting in Tony's study, reading a scientific magazine that he doesn't understand, just because it's better than anything else he could think of doing.

He doesn't know half of the words in any of the reading materials in Tony's study. At least they remind him that for all the world is the same in all the wrong ways, they're still making new discoveries every day.

And, if the paper he's reading is anything to go off of, making up words.

11:30 is when he picks up another magazine, this one with two bookmarks in it, and discovers that they're both $100 bills.

And that on its own shouldn't be enough to set him off. Tony probably just didn't have anything else on hand. But combined with everything else it's a reminder that he's doing nothing and enjoying the rewards that he didn't earn.

He has Fury on the line before he lets himself think about it. "This better be damn important."

"Sir, it's Steve Rogers."

"I know who it is."

Steve swallows. "I'd like to come work for SHIELD."

He can practically hear the satisfaction in Fury's voice. "There's an extensive screening process for field agents," he says. "But I imagine we can waive most of that in your case."

"All due respect, sir, I don't want to be a field agent."

There's silence on the line, and then crackling. "I'll work something out, give you a call."

He's pretty sure the line goes dead, but he still says "thank you, sir," just to be safe.

He looks at the phone for a bit after he hangs up, as though it holds any answers. It was a good decision. Tony's not going to like it. It was still a good decision.

After that he decides to reward himself with lunch.

The kitchen, like everything else in the house, is too big. And he paces around it, opens cupboards and closes them. And then he stands in front of the freezer, picking out the things that seem cheap.

And then he has to try and figure out the toaster.

Before he can, there's a noise behind him. The first thing he thinks is intruder, and then he spins around and finds himself looking at Bruce Banner.

"Steve?" Bruce is fixing him with a look of utter confusion. "What are you doing here?"

If he were Tony, he'd have an excuse, but he's not and he doesn't. He thinks fast, trying to formulate something. "I- uhm, Tony, he, uh," he swallows, gives up. "Don't tell anyone?"

"Oh," Bruce says, eyes widening. "Sure."

He looks at the eggo waffles that Steve had stupidly and instinctively tried to hide behind a plant. "Are you in a hurry? Because I was planning to can cook actual food if you don't mind waiting."

"Oh." He looks at the kitchen, and at Bruce, and at the pathetic waffles, and nods. "Yeah. That would be great."

Steve sits gingerly on one of the bar stools, watching as Bruce pulls things out of the refrigerator, convincing himself that this isn't as bad as he thinks it is. Bruce doesn't even seem all that surprised.

He wonders if that's because it's obvious, that he's... whatever Tony called it. Not normal.

"Thank you," he says. "For being nice about this. I don't really deserve it, after how I treated you on the helicarrier."

Bruce shrugs. "I can't blame you for not wanting us to wind up in the ocean," he says, a small smirk forming on his lips. "And if that sounds familiar it's because verbatim that's what I told you last time."

Steve smiles. "Well, that was a long time ago."

Bruce nods, running the vegetables under the tap. "Kinda thought we'd be seeing more of each other, back then."

"Guess we all did."

There's an uncomfortable silence, just long enough for Steve to start thinking he needs to fill it, when Bruce looks up, hesitant.

"You don't seem like the one-night-stand type," he says, not making eye contact. "If you'll pardon my asking."

"We didn't..." Steve starts, and then he turns a little red too because that's a lie. "I think the only way it'd qualify as a one night stand is if today were January 14th."

"Oh," Bruce says, half of his mouth curling into a little smile. "So you're the mystery boyfriend."

Steve nods.

"Was beginning to think he was making you up," he says.

He changes the topic as they eat, asks about Bruce's life. The food is good, the conversation is okay, and by the end he's beginning to feel like maybe this was a good encounter.

"So," Bruce says. "I guess Tony's told you all about his little plan to get the Avengers back together?"

Steve looks up. That's the first he's heard of the Avengers in a long time. "No."

"Oh." Bruce shrugs. "Guess I was more excited by the idea than he was."

Steve nods. That could be it.

"Who else knows? I mean, that you're dating Tony."

Steve swallows. "Pepper, and Peggy. She's someone I knew from before."

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"Wow." Bruce blinks. "And Tony's okay with it?"

"With what?"

"The secrecy."

Steve shrugs. "No."

Bruce smiles.

"I'll get the dishes," Steve says. He's not intending that as a sign that they should leave, not exactly. Being around someone is still better than being alone.

"Oh," Bruce says. "Yeah. I should probably let you get back to..."

He trails off, clearly unsure what Steve does with his day.

"And um, actually, while I have you here, could I ask you something?"

Steve nods.

"Listen, don't tell Tony I asked this, but, uh," he rubs the back of his neck and smiles in that self conscious way, "I've been thinking, that it might help me to understand what's going on with my body if I knew a little more about what was going on with yours. What I'm saying is, I'd like to run some tests on you, if you were absolutely, completely okay with it."

He has the body language of a kid doing something he's not supposed to, and for a second Steve hesitates. But there's nothing to suggest that Bruce isn't telling the truth.

"Yeah, of course," he says. "It's not a big deal, honest."

"Great, that would be... great." He smiles, lopsided. "But uh, maybe don't tell Tony anyway. I know he's cussed Fury out for basically the same thing."

He says that so matter-of-factly that Steve feels the need to hide his surprise.

"Well," he says, shrugging. "You know how he is. He doesn't like SHIELD. I don't know why."

"Oh, well, I do," Bruce says, with a grin. "You should consider yourself lucky to have escaped his lectures about SHIELD and how little he trusts them."

"But he trusts you," Steve says. "Shouldn't be an issue."

Bruce nods.

"Well, Dr. Banner," Steve says, offering his hand to shake. "I'd be honored to help you. One one condition."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Teach me how to cook."

He meets Tony in the foyer when he gets home, catches him taking his jacket off and hanging it on a statue. "I'm done with people," he announces, pulling Steve against him for a kiss. "Let's you and I just buy a private island and disappear, hmm?"

Steve rolls his eyes and retrieves the jacket from the statue, folding it over his arm. He's fairly certain it doesn't go there.

"Do you want to eat? Or should we just move on to…" Tony pauses, raises his eyebrows suggestively, "other things?"

"I made dinner."

"Oh. Great," Tony says. "Where from?"

"I cooked it."

Tony fixes him with a dubious look. "You don't cook."

"Ran into Bruce in the kitchen. Had him teach me. He assures me it'll be edible."

"Oh," Tony says, and then he registers that and a smile spreads across his face. "Oh. Did you tell him? That we're, you know, dating?"

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Are we? Is that what we're doing?"

"Okay, smartass. Dinner?"

He's especially nice throughout the meal, happy and complementary, and just a little bit seductive, the way he often is, and Steve's never sure if he's doing it on purpose or if that's just how he acts.

Of course, this time around there's a lot of reason to think that he's doing it on purpose.

He thinks about bringing up what he talked to Bruce about, and thinks better of it. So they just chat about Tony's day, and discuss whether Steve can really say he's a better cook than Tony when Bruce probably did most of the work.

That last part isn't a discussion so much as something that Tony posits partway through the meal, as though this has been a matter of great internal debate for him.

They don't talk about what they're planning to do after dinner, and despite or maybe because of this, Steve starts getting nervous somewhere around the end of the meal. It's not like they haven't had sex plenty of times. But still, this is different.

Tony even seems to notice.

"You don't _have_ to fuck me if you don't want to," he says, taking a last sip of his wine, wrinkling his nose like the very thought of abstaining is distasteful.

Steve smiles. It's kind of sweet, that Tony cares enough about his feelings to pretend he's considering them. "Try that again with more conviction."

Tony smirks.

"I do want to," Steve says. "Really."

"Try _that_ with a little more conviction," Tony says, reaching across the table to grasp his hand.

After dinner Tony excuses himself to shower, giving Steve the remote and promising, with a little seductive smirk, that it'll be worth the wait.

Steve sits there watching the news but really just running through the checklist of what he's expected to do. There's not too much. Go slow, lots of lube. He can do that.

He shouldn't do it, but he's going to. Because Tony deserves someone whose personal hang ups won't get in the way of a relationship. And Steve's not that person but he'll pretend to be him for as long as he possibly can.

Tony clears his throat.

Steve turns, slowly, like it's a chore. And he sees Tony leaning against the wall, damp hair falling across his forehead, towel hanging precariously off his hips, eyes soft and lips parted.

"Just a second," Steve says, trying and failing to tear his eyes away from Tony's body. "There's a good commercial on."

Tony smirks. "Get over here."

Steve smiles, slow and genuine, stands up and stretches, pulls his shirt over his head, letting his arms linger at the top. Tony's taught him a thing or two. He almost doesn't feel ridiculous.

He takes his belt off as he closes the distance between them, undoes the button, and is about to pull his pants down when there are hands on top of his.

"Uh-uh," Tony says, shaking his head. "That's my job."

He grabs the khakis on either side of the zipper, pulling Steve against him by the hips, hard. And then he slowly, slowly works them down his hips, his eyes locked on Steve's, their lips just inches apart.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"You gonna kiss me?"

Steve smiles. "Maybe I like this better."

"I have to do everything around here," Tony says, trying so hard to frown through his smile.

So Steve kisses him on the neck instead, drags his teeth along Tony's clavicle and then makes his way up, to the corner of his jaw, and Tony squirms like he doesn't like it but Steve knows better.

"God, you drive me crazy," Tony whispers, breath coming heavy. "I couldn't stop thinking about you all day. Spent hours in that boardroom with a massive erection, not even trying to hide it, just thinking about how good you're gonna feel inside me."

Steve blushes, a soft moan escaping unbidden from his throat. He backs Tony against the wall, helps the towel fall off of his hips. And Tony twists around, grinds his ass against Steve's crotch, arching his back as Steve's lips press against his neck.

"Unh, fuck, baby," Tony says. "Fuck me with that big fucking cock."

Tony reaches for Steve's hands and pulls them down to his hips, rubbing himself against Steve's cock.

Steve swallows. They haven't even kissed yet. "Tony," he says, trying to control his breathing, "Uh, can we, uh, slow down?"

Tony twists back to face him, a little smirk on his lips. He looks up at Steve through his lashes and cups Steve's cheek with one hand. "Just foreplay, babe," he says, his breath coming heavy. "Come on, we can go 'slow down' in the room."

Steve follows him, catching his breath, trying not to berate himself for overreacting. He's not even naked yet, of course Tony wasn't expecting him to penetrate him right there.

"So," Tony says, turning, smirking. "Orgasms are good for nerves. Do you want me on my knees, or would you rather lay down?"

Steve hesitates. "Uh, on your knees," he says, thrown by the sudden turn of events but still letting Tony tug his boxers down. He really can't complain about Tony's tongue on his balls and Tony's lips on his shaft and Tony's mouth warm and wet around him.

Tony obviously doesn't experience the same guilt Steve does with every orgasm. He's obviously expecting this to help. And Steve doesn't remember that it's just going to make things worse until it's too late.

But he can't let Tony down so he fights it, faking a smile as he stands up to kiss him. And Tony drags him onto the bed, sits cross legged, facing him.

"You read what I left you?"

"Yeah," Steve says, thinking about how clinical it had seemed, wondering if this is really something he should be doing.

"You watch anything I left you?"

"No."

Tony smirks. "Didn't think so."

Steve swallows.

Tony kisses him, gently, his fingers on Steve's jaw. And then harder, leaning into it, helping Steve's hands explore his body. And somewhere along the way, with Tony's lips against his and Tony's hands in his hair, it starts feeling okay again.

"I'm ready," he says, Tony's hand on his erection.

Tony smirks. "I can tell."

Steve swallows.

"Go slow, lots of lube. If you can't get three fingers in you're not putting your cock in. Okay?"

Steve swallows again, nods, moves his hands along Tony's hips and manages to form the syllables. "Okay."

"Okay," Tony says, smiling almost shyly, in this pure, adorable way that Steve's never seen before. It lasts for a couple of seconds and then, suddenly, it's gone. "Or, you know, two and a half fingers. You have big hands."

Steve rolls his eyes, cups Tony's face in one hand and kissing him again, soft and slow. Because as ready as he said he was he still wants to stretch this part out a little longer.

And Tony puts up with that for a little bit, but not long. "Fuck, Steve, stop teasing me," he whispers, pulling back. "This is not where I want your tongue to be."

Steve grins and he pushes Tony onto his back, making a conscious decision to be dominant because he knows Tony likes that. He kisses down Tony's torso, spreads his legs and sucks the head of Tony's cock into his mouth.

"Ungh, damn it, Steve," Tony moans, hips rocking up to Steve's mouth. "That's not what I was talking about."

Steve looks up at him in mock innocence.

"God, you're the worst," Tony says, grinning. "You know I'm being vague for your sake, right? I don't mind telling you to stick your hot little tongue in my ass."

Steve blushes, hard.

"I'll make it easier on you," Tony says, rolling over, getting on his knees, arching his back, moaning in anticipation.

Steve slides his hands along Tony's hips, lowers his mouth to kiss him on one cheek. He loves the way Tony smells. He's not sure if he's supposed to, if that's normal, but he loves it anyway. Even fresh out of the shower, with the rest of his skin soap-scented, Steve can still smell that same musky familiar scent.

He runs his tongue over Tony's skin, softly, gently, enjoying the way Tony squirms and tells him to just hurry up already. And he presses into him with the tip of his tongue, feels Tony part for him, imagines how it'd feel if it were his cock instead of his tongue, and suddenly keepings things slow doesn't seem like the best idea.

But he holds himself back, determined to do this right. And Tony moans, moving his hips to find a better angle, one hand pressing on the back of Steve's head, alternating pleas of "deeper" and "harder."

The first finger goes in easily, and Steve's breath catches at how well Tony takes it, at how slick and warm he is.

The second one takes a little longer.

The third feels awfully tight.

Steve wouldn't even have tried to quickly if it weren't for Tony's urging; for all that he'd said to go slow, apparently what he'd meant was something more along the lines of "one at a time," because Steve's barely gotten the second finger in before Tony's telling him that he can take more.

And he can, just barely, so Steve thrusts into him with his fingers for a while before giving in to Tony's pleas to finally just fuck him already.

He gets on his knees, rests one hand on the small of Tony's back. He rubs the head of his cock against Tony's ass and his breath catches at what he's about to do. At how much he wants to do it.

"Oh God, Steve," Tony moans, arching his back, spreading his legs even wider. "Stop teasing."

So he pushes in, slowly, feeling some resistance, but every time he decides he's going too fast Tony rocks backward, forcing him further.

It's amazing. It's unbelievably amazing, to be inside of Tony, to be so fully linked to him. And it feels great, better than anything has so far and god, he is not going to last.

He holds his position, gets used to how it feels, and Tony clenches around him, sending little spasms through him. He leans forward so his chest is against Tony's back, reaches across Tony's torso and grabs hold of his shoulder.

"You ready baby?"

Tony moans. "Uhn, god, yes."

Tony moves under him, arching his back and rolling his hips and Steve matches him as much as he can. As much as he's in a dominant position Tony's very much the one in charge, the one dictating the flow of their bodies.

He wraps his other hand around Tony's cock, kisses Tony on the shoulder, on the neck, and then Tony twists so he can kiss him on the lips. He just needs to kiss him, needs to feel as close to him as he possibly can.

It feels like they fit together perfectly. Like Tony's curves were made to fit into the hollows of Steve's body.

"Tony – uh, uhn, Tony, I –"

Tony's not nearly as far gone but there's still a little catch to his voice as he says, "you're gonna come?"

Steve nods, pressing his lips to Tony's neck as the first spasm hits him, pulling him closer, thrusting even deeper, his lips seemingly only capable of forming the word "Tony."

It's the closest he's ever felt to another human being, the closest he can ever imagine feeling.

He keeps going, hoping that he won't go soft if he focuses on how good Tony feels, but he still does. So he pulls out, sits down, tries to catch his breath. Physically, what they just did wasn't exhausting. Emotionally...

Tony turns around, puts a hand on Steve's thigh.

"That was... too soon," he says, and he knows he's stating a fact but he's kind of hoping Tony will correct him anyway, for his ego's sake.

Tony smirks. "I'm kinda really good in bed," he says, a charismatic self-satisfaction apparent in his smile. "You'll get it up again."

He's right, of course. It doesn't even take long, not with Tony's cock in his hand and Tony's lips on his and the memory, all of the good memories playing in his mind.

He's a little more confident this, time, knows what to do, knows how it works, and he's rougher, just a little bit, enters him slowly, still, but without all of the hesitation.

He holds Tony close again, loves to feel him sweaty and warm, gasping as Steve's cock presses into him. And Tony's just as active, hips moving against Steve's, just as tight, just as devastatingly good.

He runs his hands along Tony's torso, looking for purchase, and then one comes to rest against the arc reactor.

Tony stops moving.

His hand closes over Steve's, pulls it away, and he's breathing heavily as he says, "not a great place to put that."

"I'm sorry," Steve says, automatically, backing away, worrying.

"It's fine. It's fine, you didn't know."

"Tony?"

"Steve?"

"You okay?"

Tony slides his hand over Steve's jaw, pulling him in for a kiss. "I'm fine."

He holds Tony against him and kisses him and tries to get back that confidence, but there's too much concern holding him back.

"Is there anything else I shouldn't do?"

Tony looks at him like he can't believe he's asking.

"Tony -"

"No, no, there's just the one thing. Just don't grab the arc reactor and we'll be great. Okay?"

"Okay."

Tony smiles, begrudgingly. "You know, you're the first guy I've met who's more concerned about me than getting off."

Steve smiles, glad Tony realizes that his concern is a good thing.

"But I'm including myself in that group, so how about we get back to fucking? Do you wanna try a new position?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, he just pushes Steve onto his back. And he lowers himself onto Steve's cock, biting his lip as he bottoms out. "Ahh, fuck," he says, but not not in a good way. "I forgot how thick you are."

Steve blushes, embarrassed that it feels good for him when Tony's in pain. "I'm sorry."

Tony rolls his eyes. "No you're not. You're not ever sorry for your cock," he says, leaning forward to kiss him. "Or the very, very naughty things I want you to do with it. Okay?"

He blushes, gasping as Tony begins moving. He likes this position a lot, likes the fact that they can kiss, and that he can run his hands along Tony's back and grab his hips and feel Tony's hands in his hair. He likes that it's slow.

And at the same time he finds himself wanting to move, needing to be the one moving, and he thrusts along with Tony's gyrations until Tony sits up.

"You can fuck me like this," he says, taking Steve's hands and putting them on his hips. "Okay?"

Steve nods, swallowing, and shifts around trying to find the right position. Tony looks absolutely beautiful like this, a little bit out of breath with his hair mussed, but then he looks beautiful all of the time. And Steve starts to move, slowly, watches as Tony reacts, biting his lip and then closing his eyes as he lets his mouth fall open, and decides that maybe he likes this position best.

"Harder," Tony says, running his hands along Steve's obliques.

Steve does his best to adjust, trying to figure out this strange new movement, hands still glued to Tony's hips, loving the way they feel there.

"Faster."

He figures it out, fucks into Tony so fast that he's almost afraid that he's hurting him, harsh and sharp, hips rising, gasping as Tony's fingers brush against his nipples.

"Come on," Tony pants. "Like you mean it."

It's like something snaps in him, like he loses all of the self control he's been so accustomed to, and he lets go of all of his concern, hips snapping upward with reckless abandon, and Tony gasps like air is a precious commodity and Steve should be concerned with that but he's not, because Tony asked for it.

Tony's moans come in a string of lowering and rising pitches, like it's one steady moan being modulated by the sharp thrust of Steve's cock inside of him. And if his face is any indication he's as surprised by his orgasm as Steve is, as though he'd completely forgotten that his hand's been wrapped around his cock. His semen shoots across his stomach and his chest, but Steve's more interested in his face, in the blissful expression that he doesn't get to see when he's sucking him off.

He's absolutely beautiful.

It doesn't take him long to finish, not with the visuals and Tony's heavy breathing and the fact that he can finally let go and care about his own orgasm. He finishes with Tony's hands on his chest and Tony's eyes on his and even though he's already come twice it's just as good as the other times, maybe even better.

He's expecting Tony to get up, or at least off, but he just lays down against Steve's chest, sighing contentedly. And he kisses him, lazy, like the effort's been fucked out of him. "God," he breathes. "That was your first time. That _was_ your first time, right?"

Steve smiles. "Yes."

"Jesus Christ," Tony says, rolling onto his back. "I'm the luckiest man in the world."

Steve lies there, holding Tony's hand, listening to Tony breathe, his head spinning, no concept of time. And finally he sighs, and sits up. "We should get cleaned up."

Tony grumbles something incomprehensible, either half asleep or faking.

So Steve gets up, washes off in the shower and comes back with a damp washcloth.

Tony squirms a little at the touch, makes some vague, dissenting noise, and Steve smiles down at him and feels this protective swell of fondness in his chest, this intense desire to watch over him and make him happy.

"I love you," he says, because there's no way he could keep the words inside, even if he wanted to. And he cuddles up next to him, and falls asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Tony's still there when he wakes up. Steve blinks and checks the clock and wonders if he's dreaming, because it's almost 9 and Tony's still there. He's wrapped around a pillow, back to Steve, and he's no longer snoring but he's breathing heavily enough that it's a sure bet he's still asleep.

Steve scoots a little closer, until he can just feel the warmth of Tony's back against his chest, careful not to wake him.

He likes it like this.

He likes getting to wake up next to him.

This is the first time Tony's been asleep in the morning, the first time Steve's been able to really appreciate what it's like to wake up and know there's someone who cares about him, who trusts him, someone who depends on him, even in the very slightest of ways.

He likes Tony when he's asleep. Because when Tony wakes up, there are only ever three things on his mind: food, or sex, or work, and they're all urgent all of the time. He wishes they could focus on the small things instead, wishes they could spend the morning laying in bed and talking, just talking. Wishes Tony would make some decision about him. Let him know how he feels.

He knows Tony likes having him around, that much is evident, but Tony could substitute anybody for the role that Steve plays in his life, and Steve knows that too.

He wishes he could feel as confident about their relationship as he knows he should. Wishes like hell that he hadn't spent so long waiting for the slightest chance to be with Peggy, because then he would have experience, at least, he would know if it's normal to not know what he is to Tony when Tony's almost everything to him.

He's thought about asking Peggy but he doesn't like to do that, he doesn't like to bring Tony into their relationship any more than he has to. He'd rather they talked about her.

He's thought about asking Theresa, or even any of the kids in his class, but they all seem to look up to him in a way, to think he knows what he's doing, and there's a part of him that doesn't want to shatter that.

And he's just barely gotten comfortable referring to Tony as his girlfriend. He can't imagine having to actually talk about him without letting something slip.

Aside from that, he doesn't really know anyone.

So those are his options and he's taken none of them and it's just him and Tony, Tony who can be sweet and considerate sometimes, who's warm and comfortable and familiar and beautiful sleeping next to him.

It's just Steve feeling inexperienced and uncertain and in love, grasping for some sort of understanding, some sort of certainty.

Tony moans, shifts, and Steve nuzzles against him almost instinctively. He closes his eyes, tries to fall asleep so that he'll get to wake up again, so he can enjoy that moment of confusion, when he opens his eyes and realizes that he's not alone.

Tony wakes up before he can fall asleep. It turns out that he likes Tony a whole lot when he's just waking up, too. He yawns, stretches, slow and sleepy, his fingers finding Steve's. And he smiles, soft, genuine, looks at Steve through half closed eyes, and says, "brunch?"

They go out to an actual restaurant for the first time in what seems like forever. Steve's still a little uneasy about that, about being seen in public with Tony, and Tony, as usual, doesn't seem to care at all. He just talks about how good the bacon is, and how Steve's going to love it, and how they should go out more because there's so many places Steve's never even been.

And Steve lets him go on about that, doesn't complain about how Tony's got one hand on his thigh while he should be using both of them for driving about how he keeps glancing over when his eyes should be on the road, because it's the closest this feels to normal.

He knows nothing's going to last, that they'll go out today and they'll go back to meeting up when Tony's not busy and eating catered meals while watching movies that Tony values too much to interrupt with kissing, and then they'll kiss and they'll have sex, and he'll wake up the next morning and Tony will be gone, and he'll have left a website for him, and that's nice but it doesn't hold a candle to waking up and having Tony next to him, to going out and talking, to just doing nothing at all together because they can.

Steve can tell the place is expensive before he even gets the menu. He flips through it, trying not to fixate on the price, trying to figure out how he can get the most food for the least. Sure, he'll have a job now, but that doesn't mean he should be spending money.

"Order whatever you want," Tony says. "I'm paying."

"I can pay for myself." He shouldn't be spending Tony's money either.

"Well, yeah," Tony says. "But I'm not going to let you. I picked the restaurant, I'll pay."

Steve closes his menu, bites his lip. There's no harm in asking. "Do you think I'm just with you for your money?"

A slow smile spreads across Tony's face. "Are you?"

"No."

"Then why ask?"

He glances around. All of the other tables are consumed in conversation and there's no waiter nearby but that doesn't stop him from lowering his voice anyway. "I don't know."

"Why are we whispering?"

Steve sighs. They're whispering because he was going to say something else, something that he's not comfortable mentioning in public.

"You're gonna have to enunciate better," Tony whispers, hiding behind his menu. "Or did you just fart?"

Steve laughs, unexpected and a little too loud and he claps his hand over his mouth. What the hell. "Have you heard of 'sugar daddies'?"

Tony laughs, tries to turn it into a cough, and then gives up and laughs some more. "Yes. I've heard of them," he says, still laughing, still whispering. "The question is, how did you?"

Steve shrugs. "Kids from that graphic design class."

"And you're asking..."

Steve blushes.

Tony laughs. "Well first of all, I'm not that much older than you."

That's true. That's reassuring. Of course he's wrong. Got some stupid idea in his head.

"I mean, how young are you? 30? 29?"

Steve swallows, doesn't meet his gaze.

"Steve?"

"23. Technically"

"Oh." Tony seems taken aback a bit. "Well, I can see why you might have thought that."

"Is that a problem?"

"No," Tony says, a little too quickly. "Not if you're okay with it."

"I am."

"Okay," Tony says, looking away

Steve wants to say something, but what does he say to that? He could change the subject. He probably shouldn't.

Tony clears his throat and looks off into the distance and straightens his tie.

Steve takes a drink of water, and looks down at his menu, and wishes Tony would say something.

And then a jam packet hits him in the face, and he looks up, and Tony's smirking at him

"Of course I knew how old you are," he says. He grins, flicks a sugar packet at him. "Who do you think I am?"

Steve smiles, shrugs.

Tony gets serious again, leans forward, whispers, which is considerate of him. "You really think I'd pay you for sex?"

Steve blushes. That's not how he'd been thinking about it. "I didn't - think about it, I guess."

Tony rolls his eyes. "God, you're -" he trails off, smiles. "Cute."

Steve glances around to see it anyone can see, feels his ears grow even redder.

"And you still blush, which is great," Tony says, "Never lose that."

He smiles. Wishes they were alone. Wishes he weren't so goddamned concerned about being noticed dating another guy, actually, because he likes it like this, he likes it with a little space, where they can't just fall into bed, where there are little glances and layered smiles.

He wants something in between this and that, something where they're normal, and go on dates and go out to art museums and can hold hands in public or even just hold hands at all because it's not exactly something they can do in public.

But this, this isn't bad.

Even if he has to watch for the waiter so he won't get caught smiling so goofily, even if he has to keep his voice down.

By the time the food comes, he's comfortable, as comfortable as he's ever going to be in public with Tony, imagining that strangers know what they've done, what they did last night.

Tony, of course, is just comfortable. Like always.

And, to hell with it, Tony took his last admission well - why not go for all of it? Maybe the location, the timing, will work in his favor. "I took the job at SHIELD," he says, immediately following it up with a bite of frittata.

Tony looks at him sharply. "When?"

"Yesterday."

"Why?" There's this harsh tone to his voice, this deep disapproval, and Steve swallows.

"Need the money."

"No you don't."

"If I can work, I should."

Tony practically stabs his hash browns. "You can work somewhere else."

"I don't have any non-military skills."

"Then work at McDonalds."

Steve ignores that.

"I thought you didn't agree with their politics."

"I don't."

"Then why the hell are you getting involved?"

He shrugs. "Maybe I'll change things."

Tony snorts. "Good luck with that."

He knows shouldn't push it, but he does. "You consult for them, how's that different?"

"I can see through their bullshit."

"So can I."

Tony shrugs. "You shouldn't have to."

He doesn't push it any further, just shovels down his food like he's starving. If Tony wants to be well behaved, he's not going to stop him.

Tony's only silent for a little bit, and then they talk about innocuous things like world politics and bacon, and Steve can almost convince himself that there's nothing wrong.

But the ride home is markedly less companionable, in the sense that Tony keeps his hands to himself for what's probably the first time since they first slept together. And when they get back he dismisses Steve because he has "things to do."

He's got that thoughtful, distracted look on his face, so it's really not unlikely that he does have things to do. Probably some breakthrough or other in his lab. God knows what he's tinkering with.

"Call me later," Steve says, kissing him goodbye, and Tony promises that he will, and that's good enough.

At 10, Tony hasn't called. And Steve knows it's stupid to worry about that, because Tony forgets to call all of the time. He forgets to be home when he tells Steve to come over, sometimes. He forgets to put clothes on all of the time, but that's probably less about forgetting and more about vanity.

Still, he doesn't usually forget to answer phone calls.

At 11 he calls Jarvis, something he's never done before. The AI answers the phone, and even though he finds it a little unsettling that he's talking to a computer, Steve manages to work out that Tony's home, and awake, Bruce and Pepper are most likely sleeping, and Steve is welcome to come over. Or, as Jarvis puts it, "you should come talk to him, sir."

So he goes, creeping carefully into his lab. He finds Tony hunched over a glass and a decanter. The unsteady arch of his eyebrow when he notices Steve indicates that he's already had too much.

"I didn't invite you."

"Jarvis said I should come over."

Tony makes a face. "Congratulations," he slurs, halfway raising his hands in some sort of sarcastic celebration. "You caught me."

"I know you drink."

Tony shrugs, his shoulders raising sluggish and unequal.

"We need to talk," he says, walking up to the bench, taking a seat next to Tony.

Tony shrugs.

"You were upset, this morning. Talk to me."

Tony shrugs.

"Tony?"

Tony shrugs.

"Come on Tony," Steve says. "This isn't like you. What's wrong?"

Tony just takes another drink.

"At least get mad at me."

"Leave me alone."

"I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me."

Tony takes another drink, sloshing a little on his shirt.

"I'm serious," Steve says. "I'll sit here until you talk to me."

Tony sighs, rolls his eyes, and sits up straight. "Okay, fine. I'm not mad at you."

Steve blinks. "You just -"

"What, you've never pretended to be drunk so someone would go away?"

"No."

"Hmm." He looks at his glass, contemplative, pours himself some more. "I didn't invite you over."

"Jarvis said -"

"I don't care what Jarvis said, he's not me. You can't just come in whenever you want."

"Then who is he?"

Tony blinks. "Pardon?"

"Jarvis isn't a person, Tony. He's a computer."

Tony smirks. "Condescending, and wrong. He's an AI. He can and does make his own decisions."

"Well, I'm here now."

"Yeah," Tony says, grimacing. "What a waste of a trip. I'll call you."

"Tony –"

"I mean, seeing how you're already here, we could fuck. That's definitely an option."

"Can you please just be serious for one minute?"

"I'm completely serious. I want to fuck. Don't you?"

"Not when you're drunk."

"Oh, come on, that was an act."

"You've had two glasses since I got here."

"Hmm." Tony looks at the glass, and then back at the decanter. "Then it's definitely time for another."

"You said you'd call."

"I'm sorry. I forgot."

"You were mad at me this morning."

Tony smirks. "Wow, they don't call you a genius for nothing."

Steve sighs. "Why?"

"Why do they call you a genius? They don't, actually." He wrinkles his nose. "It was a joke, you know, I make those sometimes."

"Tony –"

"You're welcome to drink with me, or you're welcome to go home."

"You're not drinking because of me, are you?"

"I'm drinking because I like scotch."

"You have work tomorrow."

Tony smirks. "Wrong again. Told Pepper if I was working Saturday I got Monday off. She didn't actually _agree_, but she didn't disagree, so..."

Steve sighs, raises his hands in defeat. "Fine. I'm leaving. Tell Jarvis to ask your permission before he invites me over again."

"Will do." He swivels around, hunches over his glass, treating Steve to a great view of his back.

Steve slides his chin over Tony's shoulder so he can kiss him on the cheek. "So nice to see you," he says, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, running a hand over Tony's back, resisting the urge to take his scotch away. That probably wouldn't help. Might.

Tony leans back against him. "I thought you were leaving."

"I am."

"Then go," Tony says, still leaning against him.

"It's just a job," Steve says.

Tony coughs out what sounds like a derisive laugh. "If you really think that then you're pretty fucking naive."

"You going to talk to me now?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm tired and I'm wasted."

"Tony -"

"You can stay, if you want."

Steve sighs. "Why am I even here?"

Tony leans forward. "I think we're both interested in the answer to that."

"Okay," Steve says, capping the decanter. "Fine. I'll stay. We'll talk in the morning."

Tony's still there when he wakes up, except this time he's buried under blankets and groans when Steve moves. He crawls over with the blankets still on top of him, and Steve figures he must be hungover.

Tony settles his head on Steve's chest, fingers trailing lazily along his obliques, and Steve tries not to flinch as they tickle him in sensitive places. He threads his hand through Tony's hair, curling the other arm around Tony's back, and closes his eyes.

Tony's hands stop moving, and then his breathing slows, becoming deeper, and rougher, and Steve realizes that he's asleep.

It's adorable, for the first ten minutes, the gentle breeze of Tony's breath on his stomach, the way side of the arc reactor brushes against Steve's side with the rise and fall of Tony's chest. After that it's cute, for another fifteen minutes, at which point Steve realizes he's stuck there until Tony wakes up on his own, because there's no way Steve is going to ruin this.

He falls asleep again, mercifully, and when he wakes up, Tony's back to his usual self, awake, barely squinting in the light, kissing Steve's chest with obvious intent.

"You said we'd talk," Steve says, pushing him off, gently.

"I didn't say when," Tony says, smirking.

"Now."

"You're such a downer, Rogers."

Steve sighs. "We talk, then can have sex."

"Sex then talk?"

"We're talking first."

"Sex, then sex?"

"Tony."

"Fine," Tony says. "Let's talk. I'll talk about how much I love your cock."

He lays back down, sighs. "How fucking amazing it was to have you inside me, stretching me open, how I wasn't even sure I could take it all. Oh god, you felt so good."

He moans, writhes, and Steve watches his body move with a detached amusement that he's trying so hard to keep up. "How much I want you to take me, hard, right now. How fucking good it'll feel, how fucking good I'm gonna make you feel."

He looks at Steve with his pupils dilated, and pretends to look innocent and oblivious. "So, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

In spite of himself, Steve's getting a little aroused. And Tony's definitely not going to stop.

"Tony, you're not helping."

"No," Tony says, rolling over and making a show of rubbing himself through his boxers. "You're not helping."

"Ungh, nghh, oh, unh, fuck, oh, Steve," he moans, theatrical and over the top and still somewhat persuasive.

"We're brushing our teeth first," Steve says, scowling at him, and Tony stops immediately, big smile on his face.

"You're the best," he says, kissing Steve on the cheek, and Steve sighs and follows him into the bathroom.

They do it in the shower, slippery and wet, he pushes Tony up against the wall and makes him cry out in ecstasy, holds him tight.

After that he's not so pushy about talking, not when Tony's content to cuddle. He's okay to wait if it means not robbing himself of the part he likes best.

That was probably Tony's plan. Not that he's complaining.

Still, he's not about to let things blow over.

He waits until they're dressed, eating microwaved leftovers in the kitchen. "What happened last night?"

"You tell me," Tony says. "I was drunk, remember?"

"Hey. I'm serious. Are you going to freak out like this every time I do something you don't like?"

"I wasn't 'freaking out,'" Tony says. "I just wanted a little bit of space, which, by the way, you didn't give me."

"Because you told you would call me."

Tony shrugs. "Fine. We're both at fault."

Steve opens his mouth, the sighs, and waits.

Tony sighs heavily, theatrically, giving in. "Steve, you're not just some kid from Brooklyn anymore, okay? You haven't been in a long time. What you do matters."

"And?"

"And joining Shield, that's - making a statement. About who you are. What side you stand on."

Steve sighs. "Is this about getting The Avengers back together?"

Tony shrugs. "Maybe."

"Don't you think that's a little unnecessary? You've heard what Thor has to say, and there hasn't been any terrestrial threat in a long time."

Tony rolls his eyes. "There were eight months of peace after I made the Iron Man suit, and then bam, revenge plot, guy turns into a hulk, super soldier dragged out of the ocean, Asgardian god appears on earth and his brother tries to murder all of us. We'd be stupid not to prepare for something."

"Maybe, but if we want to prepare then Shield's our best ally."

"You joining them, that's not about preparing."

"You're right. It's not about anything"

"You've told me you didn't trust Shield. That you weren't in their pocket. That you don't agree with them. And now you're joining."

"Because I need a job."

"It's never that simple."

"It is."

Tony shakes his head. "Maybe for you. But, Steve, I need to know that I can trust you, okay? I need to know that. And now -"

"You can still trust me."

"Yeah," Tony says, getting angry. "Yeah, that's great. Real fucking comforting."

"Tony -"

"That's not your call," he says.

"Then what do you want me to do about it?"

"I don't know. Nothing. I just - damn it Steve, why?"

"I need to work. I can make a difference."

"Fuck that." Tony gets up, paces. "I just - I don't know if I can trust you."

Steve's always too quick to anger, he knows that, but Tony just flipped like a switch and he's pissed about that even without considering the context of what he's talking about. "What do you expect me to do about it? I can't tell you to trust me, I'm not going to stop working because you're paranoid. What do you want from me?"

Tony closes his eyes, clamps them closed, leans over the granite countertop. "I don't know. It's not - I'm just telling you why I didn't call, okay? I need some space, or -"

"Tony," Steve says, lowering his voice, soft, trying to soothing. "I love you -"

"That's another thing," Tony says, cutting him off, nostrils flaring. "I was just gonna let that go because I know, I'm an asshole for saying anything, but would you please stop fucking saying that?"

Steve can't process that for a moment, he just blinks, mouth open, feels like he's been struck. And then he narrows his eyes. "You're right."

"I am?" Tony's surprised, but wary, and that's good because that's the right response.

"Yeah," Steve says, nostrils flaring. "You are an asshole."

Tony laughs, derisive. "Great. Glad we're on the same page."

Steve swallows, like he can keep all of his hurt and frustration down with that simple gesture. "I love you, Tony, and I'm not going to stop saying it just because that makes you uncomfortable. If you just want me to fuck you then you have the wrong guy."

"Do you even know what love is?"

"I think I know a lot better than you do."

Tony smiles, broad, humorless. "Oh, yeah? You love me? You love me but I have to beg you to have sex with me, and I can't even tell my friends we're together. Is that what passed for love in the 1940s? Would you even know?"

"Love isn't about _sex_," he says, glaring. "Or showing off. But I guess you wouldn't know that. How many women have you slept with anyway?"

Tony smiles. "Oh, okay, so we're having this conversation."

"Yeah," Steve says. "About time we did."

"So are you talking exact count... or what, exactly? Details? Only the women? What about the men?"

He shrugs. He doesn't want to hear about any of it.

"You don't need me for this. Read some tabloids. Ask Jarvis. Draw your own damn conclusions. But what about you? What's your problem?"

"Excuse me?"

"I find it miraculous that you look like that and never got laid."

"I wouldn't just jump into bed with anybody." He shakes his head, laughs a little, like he's laughing at Tony, at all the bad decisions he's ever made. "Sex means something to me."

Tony smirks. "Eternal damnation?"

"No." Probably. Not that he cares anymore.

"Then what is it? What possessed you to have sex with me on the first fucking date, and then act like I'm an asshole for expecting it now?"

Steve would blush, almost does, but the irritation sees him through unscathed. And then he finds that he doesn't have an answer.

"What the hell, Steve? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He swallows, looks him straight in the eye and doesn't give in a bit but the words aren't coming anymore.

"There's something, isn't there?" Tony's still angry, he can see it in his eyes, but there's a bit of curiosity too. "God damn it, Steve."

"I -" Steve swallows, doesn't finish.

"I shouldn't have to beg you," he says, voice calmer, a little reproachful, his usual, contained self. "I shouldn't. If you really don't want to fuck then fine, tell me, and I'll leave you alone. Okay?"

He shakes his head, mouth twitching into this ironic smile. "I fucking love you, and all I fucking want is to know that you know what it means when you say that to me."

Steve's struck again, wordless, looking at him, and he doesn't know what comes over him. He really doesn't. "If I didn't look like this would you have even given me the time of day?"

"You know, I'm getting really sick of your insecurity."

"It's not insecurity," he says, nostrils flaring. "I just don't want to be valued for the wrong reasons."

"News flash, Rogers. Every fucking person you ever meet is gonna judge you by how you look. You know that. I know you know that. So don't fucking dismiss me just because I'm attracted to you."

Steve doesn't say anything.

"Are you even attracted to me? I'm not talking about your dick. I mean, when you look at me, do you ever think 'I want to fuck him'?"

There's obviously a right answer to that. "Yes."

"Really?"

Steve sighs. "Not in those terms."

"Right."

"I like you," he says, because he's afraid to say love. "I look at you and I want to be close to you."

"But you don't want to fuck me."

"Sometimes I do," Steve says, swallowing, because this absolutely the wrong answer. "Sometimes it's not that appealing."

Tony's mouth opens, and then he narrows his eyebrows and then he raises them and then he shrugs. "Well, I've never heard that one before."

"I like having sex with you," he says. "Really. I just don't want to do it all the time."

"Even counting oral as sex, we're averaging like three times a week. That's not 'all the time'."

Steve sighs. "I know. I'm just not in the mood that often."

"Then how often are you in the mood?"

Steve shrugs. A lot, sometimes. Almost always when they were first dating. Very rarely before that. Rarely now. There's no good answer.

"Well," Tony says, an air of finality in his voice. "Now I know why you never got laid."

"I used to want it all the time." he closes his eyes, remembers the cold showers, remembers holding himself back, sneaking glances. And his body responds almost the same now, but his mind isn't as into it as he'd expected to be. He's been telling himself it's because he's grown up, because he's valuing other things more, but looking at Tony's face now he knows for certain that's not it. "Maybe the ice... did something."

Tony raises an eyebrow, condescending. "The ice... _did something_."

Steve shrugs, bites the inside of his cheek. "I'm not a scientist. I'm just saying I'm different now."

"Different as in you don't want to have sex with me?"

"You're the only person I'd want to do it with."

Tony sighs. "Great. Fucking... great."

"I'll be more into it," Steve says. "I didn't mean to make you unhappy."

"No. Don't do that."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

"Uh, Actually be into me."

Steve shakes his head. "Forget I said anything."

"Do you want more romance? Is that it?"

Steve's torn between two truthful answers, and the thousand snarky replies that float around his head, refusing to take a useable form. "I don't think that would change anything."

"Let's try it," Tony says. "How do you feel about Paris?"

"What?"

"For dinner."

He knows Tony's just baiting him, setting him up for - well, he doesn't know, but it's something.

"You said you wanted space," he says, instead. "I'll give you some space. Just a few days. Time to think."

Tony's silent a moment, and then he nods. "Yeah," he says. "That's a good idea."

Steve sits silent for a moment, waiting for that moment when the hostility has turned entirely into weariness. Tony seems to notice, seems to want the same thing, because he doesn't say anything either.

"I'll call you later," Steve says, eventually and he means that. No reason they can't talk.

"I love you," Tony says, begrudging, an offering of peace.

And it's not the greatest of situations, but Steve gets the chance to say something he's been waiting forever to say: "I love you too."


	12. Chapter 12

The break lasts until Wednesday morning, when Tony wakes him up with a video call.

"Fuck space," he says. He looks immaculate, as always. He's standing in his lab, backlit by the wall of Iron Man suits. "I want you around."

Steve grimaces, screws his eyes shut. "What time is it?"

"Uh..." Tony looks behind him. "About 4:26."

Steve grimaces again. "Did you sleep?"

"Yeah," Tony says. "Totally. Wanna get breakfast?"

"Now?"

"Or whenever. You can sleep more."

"No," Steve says, stifling a yawn, running a hand across his bare chest. "I'm up."

"You're not wearing the pajamas I got you."

"Sorry."

"Don't be," Tony says, looking him up and down and biting his lip in an almost predatory way. "I like this better. Angle the phone down a little?"

Steve just smiles, arm coming up to cover his pecs.

"Ugh, fine. So, you'll be over soon?"

Steve nods. "I need to shower first."

"Ooh. Take me with you."

Steve grins, unsurprised. A little surprised. "You're telling me to take a phone into the shower?"

"Fine," Tony says, sighing theatrically. "I guess I'll have to come over there and hold it for you."

"Goodbye, Tony."

"Wait. Really, why don't I just come over there?"

"What?"

"I'm all ready. You shower, I'll show up." He smirks. "Who knows, if I take the suit maybe I can catch you in the shower."

"No. Your place is bigger." And there's no way he's going to let Iron Man show up on his doorstep.

Tony dismisses that with a little puff of air through his lips. "We're eating breakfast. I think I'll fit."

"Tony, it's 4 in the morning. I have neighbors. I'll see you soon."

He hangs up. Shakes his head, and then he smiles, a relieved grin that stretches what feels like ear to ear. It's been a day and a half. They've much longer without talking before, just by coincidence. A day and a half is nothing.

He's relieved anyway.

He's ignoring that little, awful part of him that kept saying that maybe it'd be easier, if Tony didn't want him around anymore. That he wouldn't have to feel guilty, he wouldn't have to feel lost, he wouldn't have to worry.

He's ignoring that little part of him because it doesn't know anything. He wants Tony. He doesn't care if it's hard.

Of course, in person, when Tony's with him it's the easiest, most natural thing in the world.

He finds him in his lab, of course, watching simulations of his suit, of course.

He wraps his arms under Tony's arms and across his chest, rests his chin on Tony's shoulder. "This again?"

He's not sure if he's expecting an answer, but Tony offers one anyway, his hands sliding up along Steve's forearms. "_This_ happens to be the most important thing I do."

"Really?" Steve asks, hiding his smile behind Tony's shoulder blade. "I thought _I_ was."

He can see Tony's grin in the reflection on the monitor, and that, more than anything makes him feel like everything's okay.

"Is this what you do all the time," he says, nuzzling against Tony's neck. "Obsess over the suit?"

"I'm not obsessing,"

"Mhmm."

Tony leans back warm and stable against him, his lips finding the corner of Steve's mouth. "Well," he says, still typing with one hand, "You gonna distract me, or what?"

Steve grins, flicks his tongue at Tony's ear and then he lifts him easily off of the stool, practically dragging him away from the computer, ignoring his half-hearted protests about schematics and rendering and flux capacitors.

They end up on the couch, Tony on top, stretched out across him kissing him first on the mouth and then on the neck, in all of the places that he knows Steve is particularly sensitive, leaving him laughing and squirming. Leaving him with no recourse but his fingers, and Steve makes use of them, trails them lightly, so lightly along Tony's obliques that he can feel him shiver, and then he tickles him, in retribution, because he's not going to be the only one trying to decide if what he's feeling is pleasure or pain.

Tony gives in first, rolls off of him, grins. "You don't fight fair," he says, biting his lower lip. "I like that."

Steve smiles but when Tony doesn't push him any further he just yawns, stretches. "I was lured here under the pretense that there would be food," he says, and maybe it's just wishful thinking that Tony could kiss him, could want him without _wanting_ him, because that seems to be the wrong thing to say.

He knows it's the wrong thing to say. He's not stupid.

But Tony takes it in stride, pretends to think about it. "Well," he says, a little serious frown on his face, eyes in their upper right corners, "I guess I could do that."

Steve nods.

"You just sit here and look pretty, I'll take care of everything, sweetie," Tony says. "Jarvis, surprise me. And triple the usual order. Wouldn't want anyone to think I'm a bad provider."

And then he's sitting down again, claiming a space in Steve's lap, his butt on Steve's leg and his back against the armrest and his arm draped over Steve's shoulder. "So, where were we?"

Steve doesn't want to turn him down. He hesitates.

"Not starting anything, then," Tony sighs, and from how quickly he gives up Steve can tell he was expecting this. An upside of talking, maybe. Tony's energy seems to deplete, and he lays his head against Steve's shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Tony says. "Probably don't have time anyway."

Steve runs a hand through Tony's hair. It feels nice. Everything about him feels nice.

And then Tony clears his throat. "Are you happy?"

"Yes," Steve says, the word jumping from his mouth automatically. "Just because —"

"No," Tony says, and it's a quiet word but it steamrolls over Steve's protests nonetheless. "I didn't mean it that way. Just, in general. Are you?"

"Yes," Steve says. "Of course."

And then, in the silence that follows, "why do you ask?"

"Well, I don't see you making conversation."

Steve snorts. There's no need for conversation. Even Tony acknowledges that, sometimes, on these late nights or early mornings. That just being together is enough.

Tony shifts. "Why don't you ever sit on my lap?"

That's even more ridiculous. He's not made for that, not anymore. He doesn't even think he'd mind it, if things had turned out differently. "I'd crush you," he says, brushing one finger along Tony's cheek like he's some delicate possession.

"You've got like fifty pounds on me," Tony says. "Maybe. That's nothing."

"And a couple inches."

Tony smirks. "Well, that's not true."

That takes him a second, and when it strikes him somehow it's funnier than it should be. And he grins, showing his dissatisfaction with a playful slap to Tony's left shoulder. "I was talking about height."

"Hmm," Tony says, the vibrations traveling between them. "So you'd sit on my lap if I wore high heels?"

Yes. Because that's the problem. "I'm not going to crush you."

"Right," Tony says. "Exactly."

"No — I mean, I won't do it."

"Spoilsport."

He stands up, takes Steve's hand, pulling, insistent but ineffective. "Up."

"No."

"C'mon. You're not gonna crush me."

"You don't know that."

Tony snorts. "Even if you do, it wouldn't make the top ten of stupidest things I've done. C'mon."

So Steve gets up too, shaking his head, and then he carefully, gently balances himself on Tony's lap. It feels good. Comfortable.

Tony pulls him back, tries to make him relax, but Steve can't, yet. "Are you sure this is okay?"

And Tony, he's silent a moment, and then he makes this awful, strangled noise. "Hfujhgh — can't — breathe —"

Steve jumps up like he's been stung, already feeling the flush in his cheeks, and he turns around, an apology already forming on his lips.

And sees Tony grinning like a madman. "Gotcha."

That's not funny. He frowns. "That's not funny."

"Oh, lighten up," Tony says, stupid grin still on his face. "I'm hilarious. C'mon. Sit down."

Steve sighs and makes a show of sitting next to him, leaving a little breathing room.

"Really?"

Steve shrugs.

Tony pulls him against his chest. "God, remind me not to joke around you."

Steve doesn't say anything, he just lets Tony rub his back until Jarvis announces that the food has arrived, and he lets himself think it feels good because he's tired and has just been embarrassed and not because he simply craves comfort now.

Breakfast is omelettes and pancakes and french toast and bacon and fruit and Steve takes one look at it and shakes his head. "Even I couldn't eat that much."

"Relax," Tony says, spreading the styrofoam containers out on the kitchen table. "It all microwaves fine."

It's a reasonable statement. Steve's surprised. "You eat leftovers?"

"Well, no. Happy does."

"I hope you don't let this go to waste."

"Course not. Everyone knows there are starving kids in Africa."

Steve cuts off a piece of pancake. "Starving kids in America, too."

"And you're doing a lot to fix that," Tony says, like it's just a reflex, and then he looks at Steve and seems to realize how it sounds. "I mean, fuck, you know I didn't mean that."

Steve shrugs. He knows he can't do anything about it, can't do anything about any of the injustices he's seeing, but god, he wants to, he's going to. He's gonna make this SHIELD job work out. He's gonna get back where he was, gonna work on it. Just that simple act of taking the job, it's given him hope. He's doing something.

He's staring into his food as he thinks this and maybe that's why Tony thinks he's upset.

"I'm sorry," he says, and Steve looks up, surprised.

"I mean, about that whole 'not trusting you' thing the other day. Obviously, I wasn't thinking straight."

Oh. Steve wasn't expecting to talk about that, and he definitely wasn't expecting an apology. "It's okay," he says, shrugging a little. "I should've talked to you first."

"Ehh, probably not," Tony says, offering a little smile, and Steve smiles too, just enough to return the sentiment, just enough to tell Tony it's fine, it's behind them.

"You're pretty great," Tony adds. "You know that, right?"

That's a stupid thing to say, he thinks, as the smile on his face broadens of its own accord. "I love you too."

"For the record, I wasn't fishing for that," Tony says, smirking, and for a moment everything's okay.

So then, of course, Bruce shows up.

Steve's in mid bite when he does, he shovels some pancakes in his mouth and looks up and there he is in the doorway, looking at them. That's not the main thing he's doing, of course, the main thing he's doing is walking into the kitchen, but his eyes are on them, and that's what Steve notices.

He's disheveled and tired, and he blinks, twice, and then gestures behind him, in an aimless sort of way. "Morning," he says, yawning. "I'm not uh, interrupting, or —"

"Not at all," Tony says, and clearly Steve's hand hasn't actually begun vibrating, it just feels like that, or clearly Tony would have noticed. "Join us. We've got tons of food."

Bruce runs a hand through his hair and smiles, distracted. And then he points to the refrigerator. "I'm gonna — juice."

When Bruce turns his back Steve gently disentangles his fingers from Tony's, ignoring the reproachful raised eyebrow he gets in return.

He holds his breath, waits for Tony to say something. To try and embarrass him. He doesn't.

Bruce doesn't say anything, and Steve didn't expect him to. He doesn't know what he expected. There's nothing wrong with — well, it's one thing to talk about Tony, it's another to have him there, with Bruce knowing that they've had sex. That's all. That's his only issue.

Why is it easier to talk about when just being here doesn't even take effort?

He shrugs it off and drowns his feelings in maple syrup, and at some point in the easy conversation his appetite returns.

He's starting on his second helping when Jarvis interrupts them with the time.

"Mm, fuck," Tony says. "I'm late. Bruce, nice seeing you. Steve, if you're chewing something I'd suggest swallowing it."

He does reflexively, not fully comprehending until Tony leans across the table, grabs him by the shirt, and kisses him. It's not chaste, it's not appropriate, not with Bruce a few feet away. Plus, he tastes like eggs.

"See ya," he says, with a wink, and then he's gone.

And Steve fakes a smile and sneaks a glance at Bruce and tries to ignore that sucking pit in his stomach. He's on edge. He shouldn't be.

It's okay now. He knows that.

But — even in front of Bruce, who's kind and understanding, it's not that easy.

"So," Bruce says. "Tony tells me you're working for SHIELD?"

Steve finishes his orange juice, and then he registers that. "Hmm?"

"You're working for SHIELD now?"

"Yeah," he says. "Next week."

Bruce nods. He seems comfortable, maybe a little tired, but not at all put off by Tony's affection.

Steve excuses himself anyway. It's not that he doesn't like Bruce. He does. But he doesn't want to talk about SHIELD, and he really doesn't want to talk about Tony.

He just wants to go somewhere comfortable, familiar, and unwind.

So he goes the only place that really feels like a home to him anymore, the only place where he has anyone he can think of as family.

When he gets there, Theresa's already in Peggy's room, working on a puzzle and chatting. And she offers to leave, but Steve's tempted but ultimately he wants her to stay.

With Theresa around, they always talk about the century Steve likes better.

"So," Theresa's saying, "I was reading this cool article about formal pictures — because, you know there are all these old pictures of two guys being really familiar, and lots of people think that's because they're gay — and it said that basically guys used to be friendly the way girls are, you know, like touching and kinda posing almost romantically, but that stopped because they didn't want people to think they were gay."

She pauses a second, then adds, "that's kinda sad, you know?"

Peggy nods, holding one of the puzzle pieces up to the light like it'll give her clues. "Where'd you find that?"

"Internet," Theresa says.

"Why were you looking for —" gay people, Steve thinks.

She laughs. "I wasn't looking for it. It just showed up on Tumblr. You do go on the internet, right?"

"Yeah," Steve says. "Mostly wikipedia." And whatever Tony shows him.

"Well," she says. "You're missing out then. You gotta go on Tumblr or Reddit. I mean, they're awful, so don't, but that way you get to hear about cool things without searching for them."

"Uh, okay."

"Or, you know what, just give me your e-mail address. I can send you things I think you'd like."

"I don't have one."

"You don't have an e-mail?" She seems shocked, like everybody has an e-mail these days. "I mean, _everybody_ has an e-mail. Or two. Or three."

"Even I have an e-mail," Peggy says.

Steve shrugs. "Well, I don't."

"And that's fine," Peggy says, patting his leg, and Theresa bites back a laugh.

"So, you were, saying?"

"Oh," Theresa says. "Right. So, I was just wondering, like, what was it like for you?"

"What was what like?"

"I mean, were you really close with your friends like that? Were you afraid people would think you were gay if you were?"

"Me and Bucky, we were — pretty close," Steve says, and this might be the first time he's mentioned Bucky to someone who isn't Peggy. "That's just how it was. Not everyone, but, lots of people."

"How close?"

"I loved him," Steve says, tongue sliding across his lower lip.

There's a silence, and he feels the need to keep going. "More than anyone," he says. "It's different, when it's just a friend."

Theresa frowns.

"You know they don't want anything else. That if they didn't like the person you are they wouldn't be there, and that's all that matters. Who you are."

"What else is there?"

"What you look like," Steve says, and Peggy pointedly rolls her eyes.

"No, he's got a point," Theresa says. "I feel like if you suddenly got ugly, that'd ruin any relationship."

Peggy shakes her head. "If it's true love it'll last. When you really love someone it's not how they look that makes them beautiful, it's how they are."

And Steve knows that's true, that's how he feels about her. But sometimes he wonders if that's really how it is, if maybe sometimes how you look overshadows how you are, even for the people who should know the difference.

"That's deep," Theresa says, gazing into the distance for a moment, and then suddenly snapping back. "So, did you have to worry about other people thinking you were gay?"

"No, it wasn't like that." He smiles, shakes his head. "I mean, Bucky always had some girl hanging around. He was good with 'em, real popular."

Peggy smiles. "Well, he thought so."

"He was," Steve insists. "He was a real smooth talker. Girls loved him. Not me so much."

Peggy snorts. "Not like you gave them much of a chance."

"I did."

"Oh, so now you're changing your story," Peggy says, smiling, a little teasing note in her voice. "I thought you said I was the first woman worthy of your attention."

He blushes. It's true, but the way she says it isn't. Everyone was worthy of his attention. Just no one set him off guard the way Peggy did. "So, to answer your question —"

Peggy swats him on the back of the head. "Changing topics, are we?"

"Just trying to answer a question."

"Oh, don't avoid the topic just because of me," Theresa says, giving him a little innocent smile.

And Steve casts her an amused, exasperated look, but Peggy's the one to give in first.

"Well, it just wasn't something you thought of back then," she says. "Not how it is now. Now everyone wants to know who you like to fuck before they even meet you."

Steve turns to look at her, because, that phrasing —

Peggy raises an eyebrow. "Do you disagree?"

"You could tell," Steve says, choosing to ignore the second half. "Sometimes. When a guy wasn't right."

He sees Theresa's expression. "I mean, queer."

That doesn't seem to work either.

"We weren't all looking over our shoulders all the time," he says. "It wasn't like that."

It was a little like that, sometimes, but only for him, not for Bucky. He just can't tell Theresa that. It's admitting that he is queer, because why else would you worry?

"I never thought that way," Peggy says. "Ever. When I met you, even before the serum, I would never have thought —" and then she seems to realize, looks at Steve wide-eyed, and his nostrils flare, he starts feeling a little off, and he's just glad she doesn't apologize, doesn't call more attention to it.

Theresa catches that anyway, maybe catches the reactions more than the words, looks at him, says, "so, wait, you're…"

"Bi," he says, because there's nothing better to do than shrug this off, pretend he's fine saything that.

She's silent a moment, as though wondering how to proceed. And then she shrugs. "I think everyone's everyone's at least a little bi."

"Well, I agree with that," Peggy says, a strange smile on her face, and it takes Steve a second and then he gapes at her, certain she can't be saying what he thinks she is.

Peggy grins. "You don't think I've told you everything about my life, do you?"

No, but –. Well. Maybe. A little bit.

She seems awfully pleased with herself. "An old lady has to have _some_ secrets."

Theresa leans forward. "How far have you gone?"

Steve looks at her in horror, but Peggy just laughs.

"Not as far as I would have liked," she says. "There was the war, and then I met my husband, and, well, I'd already lost Steve, so I knew I couldn't chance losing him."

Theresa sighs. "You should write a book," she says. "You should write ten books."

Peggy shakes her head. "Oh, no one wants to read about me."

"You should," Steve says, and this is an old refrain but he doesn't mind pushing it because of the way she smiles when they do.

She smiling like that right now, but she shakes her head and picks up a puzzle piece. "I wonder where this one goes."

"Well, one of these days I'll persuade you," Theresa says. She nudges Steve. "You could write it, right? I'm sure you know all the good stories."

"I'm no writer," he says. "I could illustrate it, though."

"Ooh, yes," Theresa says, getting excited. "We could have a whole childrens' series, The Adventures of Peggy Carter. And — can there be a female love interest? I want there to be a female love interest. At least in some of them. And Steve, you can be in it, I mean, if you want. It's not classified, right? The government won't come after us?"

Peggy smiles. "No, I shouldn't think so. But _I_ might."

"Well, that's why you'll have to help me," Theresa says, and then to Steve, "I really want to do this. Let's do this. You'll illustrate it all? You promise?"

Steve's not sure what to say, but it doesn't matter, because Theresa's work phone goes off at that moment. "I'm in 31," she says, and then, "Sure, I'll be right there."

"We can start storyboarding next week," she says, hopping up. "This is exciting. I'll call you so we can discuss."

She pauses by the door, turns back to look at Steve, "oh, and get an e-mail address, okay?"

"She's nice," Peggy says, and Steve nods.

"I'm so sorry for outing you, darling," she adds.

He curls up next to her, lets her run her fingers through his hair. "It's fine."

She smiles. "It is, you know."

"Mhmm."

"I'm glad you have Tony."

Steve doesn't know what to say. He is glad, he would never give him up, but –

"You never told me you were bi."

"Oh, it doesn't matter," she says. "I had my fun."

He thinks about her, kissing girls, back then, back when it wasn't okay. And to think of her having fun doing it.

It is fun, though, he thinks, it's fun kissing Tony, and it's exciting or arousing or comfortable depending on the situation, but it's been terrifying too, once or twice, when he thinks too hard about what he's doing.

And he just got to wake up and suddenly it was okay and he doesn't even have as much courage as she did back then, can't even imagine letting everyone know.

And when Theresa mentioned a female love interest his first thought was that it wasn't appropriate for children. To see that. And his next thought was that it can't be inappropriate because it's just love but still, that was his first thought.

"It matters," he says. "It must have taken a lot of courage."

"I wouldn't say courage," Peggy says. "A disregard for what's expected, rather. I've always been that way. As have you."

"Maybe," Steve says, and then he sits up, because he doesn't want to give her the wrong impression. Doesn't want her to think he's weak.

They continue working on the puzzle, mostly in silence. His phone buzzes. It's from Tony. "Dinner with Pepper tonight?"

"No thank you," he types. The last thing he needs is another person watching as Tony gets too familiar.

Another buzz. "I'll also be there."

"I figured."

"What's wrong? Don't like me again? :("

"That's not gonna work on me."

He puts the phone down, determined not to give in to Tony's needling.

He's expecting Tony to argue with him, but when he picks the phone back up a half hour later there are only two messages.

The first: "come over after?"

And the second, ten minutes later: "I sleep better when you're here."

Peggy nudges him. "What are you so excited about?"

He looks up, realizes that he's smiling. "Just Tony," he says.

"You've been a lot happier since you got together," she says. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

He shrugs, smiles. Maybe he has.

He's almost asleep, the sheets cool against his sides, Tony warm against his chest. He's on the very edge of dreaming, and then Tony whispers. "Steve? Are you awake?"

"Yeah," he says, not opening his eyes, not sure if he could.

"Do you mind if I jack off? I'll be quiet."

That opens them. "What?"

"Um, beat off, or, spank the monkey, or what'd they call it in your day, like, what, charleston the… uh… thunderbird?"

"No one has ever said that."

"Hmm," Tony says. "Their loss."

Steve shifts onto one elbow, feeling sluggish, like he's not comprehending something. "I mean, why?"

"Because being around you… uh, does things to me. I probably shouldn't get into it, very personal, a little inappropriate, I –"

"Do you want me to –"

"No."

"You don't know what I was going to say."

"Doesn't matter. I didn't ask if you wanted to do anything."

"But –"

Tony sighs. "You're going to sleep. And I'm going to jack off here, or somewhere else. Simple as that."

"But –"

"If you wanted to fuck, we'd have done that already. Okay? This isn't some big thing. I just need to get off before I can sleep."

Steve can't help feeling like this is bad, that he should be a better boyfriend. But he's tired, and Tony's insistent, and the thought of doing anything other than laying here and falling asleep makes him want to sleep even more.

"Do it here," he says, shifting to get comfortable again. Wondering what he's supposed to do. If he's supposed to roll over. He doesn't.

"Great," Tony says, squeezing his hand. "I'll be quiet. Just go to sleep."

He nods, not expecting that to be easy. But when his head hits the pillow and his eyes close he finds himself back in that warm, comfortable place that he already was. And whether it makes him a bad person or not, the last things he hears as he falls asleep are the rhythmic sounds of Tony's ragged breath and the wet slide of his hand.


End file.
